


Love

by xTheCherryx



Series: Love [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Ace-centric, Alternate Universe, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Classical Music, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Heterosexuality, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mentions of past Gol D. Roger/Edward Newgate, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:43:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7924603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTheCherryx/pseuds/xTheCherryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>However, keep in mind, a sonata is only over, when the last bar has been played.</p><p>It is in January, when nine-year-old Gol D. Ace walks up the stairs at his new music school and meets a blond boy with a dazzling smile. Nine years later that boy is no longer just his closest friend and musical partner but also his lover. However, during times of war sacrifices have to be made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Edited author's note:  
> So I managed to edit the last twenty pages of my document and I've also split the text into three chapters now, for easier reading, in case anyone's wondering.
> 
> Since I was so tired last night, when posting, I wasn't even able to come up with a proper note... ^^" I'll make up for that now. This story is something I wrote for the Share the Love Month event on tumblr and it was inspired by the 'Love Theme I' by Shigeru Umebayashi. It's on the soundtrack for the movie 'The Grandmaster'. Give it a listen, if you like. It's been my theme for this entire story. Apart from that I hope you enjoy reading! :) I sure had a lot of fun writing it!
> 
> Also, please read the tags for warnings.

The first time I saw him was seven days after my ninth birthday.

It was the beginning of January, the world outside shrouded in a thick blanket of puffy white snow, the skies a gloomy grey, day in and day out, and cobble stone paved streets glistened, glowing softly in the lights of lanterns and windows come nightfall, a wickerwork of golden paths leading through the city. Winter had always been my favourite season, hiding poverty and misery beneath a blanket of sparkling icy crystals and just like that the world had become a better place.

It was one of those snowy days, two weeks after we—my father Roger, my mother Rouge and I—had moved to town. My father was working for a national newspaper and had just been transferred to the capital and put in charge of the head office. I hadn’t been happy that we had to leave my hometown. I had made a lot of friends there over the years and I knew that there was one in particular that I would miss dearly, but Luffy’s father had promised him that they would come to visit us as soon as we had settled in and I was already looking forward to it.

My mother’s side of the family belonged to what was sometimes called old money, or nobles, in other terms. They had a nice estate down in the south with a vast garden and a forest on its edge, which Luffy and I would explore, chasing after imaginary villains, or pretending to be pirates sailing out to sea.

My childhood days were filled with laughter, freedom and happiness, and I didn’t have a care in the world.

When we moved to the capital in the north eastern part of the country it was decided that I would be granted the luxury of a private teacher in order to be able to dedicate more of my time to playing the piano.

The reason why my parents wished for me to master this magnificent instrument was simple; my mother had always been musically gifted and my grandparents’ dream had always been for her to become a virtuous pianist. She had adopted that dream as her own, enjoying lessons by some of the continent’s best teachers invited by my grandparents, turning out to not only be talented, but also ambitious and hardworking—all in all a promising student. My father, being the loving, devoted husband that he was, had always encouraged her, supporting her dream with everything he had.

And I? Well, most of the pieces she had played during her pregnancy had stuck with me, even to the point where I only needed to play the first few tunes of a melody in order to feel the safety of an unborn child in its mother's womb, a sense of security, left behind by memories I could no longer recall, evoked by those familiar sounds.

But life had had other plans and two years after I had been born, she had gotten sick, and within the span of six months she had become too weak and frail to continue playing. Luckily, her condition hadn't been life threatening and the doctors were eventually able to cure her. However, the stiffness in her fingers and the fragility of her body remained, making it impossible to play anything faster than adagio and leaving an unpleasant throbbing in her joints after just a single piece. And so her dream of filling the great concert halls of this country, and maybe even the continent, had been shattered.

However, my mother had never been someone to give up easily and with the obstacles life had thrown in her way she had only become more obstinate, it seemed, dedicating all of her energy and time towards my career instead and with how much I adored and loved her in return, I wished for nothing else more but to see her happy, and thus becoming a renowned pianist became my life’s purpose, the dream I should pursue vigorously, driven by the undying wish to make her proud, to give back some of what I had received.

The glow lighting up her face, paired with a peaceful expression and the soft smile dimpling her freckled, fair cheeks whenever she and my father would sit on the chaise longue beside the grand piano in the centre of the sitting room at our old house in the south would serve as reassurance, telling me I was doing the right thing. And I cherished those Sunday afternoon sessions, revelling in the closeness of my family as I sat atop the stool, black grand piano in front of me, fingers striking the black and white keys in quick succession, playing my favourite tracks by Beethoven, Mozart, Schumann, Chopin. I would steal glances at their enraptured faces, smiling to myself contentedly. After we had recovered from my mother's illness I was profoundly convinced nothing would ever be able to tear us apart. The wishful thinking of a boy who had grown up sheltered and protected.

When we moved to the capital I was sad that I had to leave my old life behind, but I was also excited for all the new things awaiting me, listening for hours on end to my mother telling me about all the opportunities I would have—musical wise—in this thriving, bustling town with its many people of all kinds. The day my parents told me I would be able to enrol at the Royal School of Music I couldn’t stop grinning, barely able to sleep the night before my first piano lessen. It was there that I saw him for the first time, on that snowy day in the second week of January, on the stairs of that grand, old building where the school was located.

My mother and I were on our way to the dean’s office to introduce ourselves before meeting my teacher for the year when he came walking down the stairs, holding a violin’s case in one hand, the other atop the rail, his mother by his side. Since we were still children we did not yet know an adult’s fear, were not yet fully educated in the mannerisms of society—at least I wasn't. But our attention had been captured, so we stared shamelessly, big round eyes taking in the foreign child before them with unconcealed curiosity. And even though I was young and innocent and had not yet developed an opinion on what I perceived as beautiful, I found this blond boy’s blue eyes the most mesmerising, captivating ones I had ever seen.

I wasn’t able to take my eyes off him, and when he felt my gaze he tilted his head to look at me, granting me the full sparkle of two sea blue eyes. For a second I forgot how to breathe, startled by the sudden wild thumping of my heart, the world around me nothing but a distant blur of shapes and colours. He blinked. Once. Twice. Astounded, maybe, by how intrigued I must have looked. The corner of his lips twitched before they were pulled into the most radiant smile—second only to that of my mother—revealing a gaping hole where a tooth was missing and crinkling up the corner of his eyes with kindness.

We had only passed each other on the stairs that day, but that short moment had been enough for me to decide that I would make this boy my friend as I was already in need of the warmth radiating from his smile the second it had vanished from my sight. I would make him happy, just so I would be granted the grace of his smile again.

My mother had noticed the boy’s smile and my fascination—hardly anything ever escaped her attention—and once we had reached the top of the stairs she lightly squeezed my much smaller hand, a smile of her own brightening her freckled face as she whispered that it seemed like I had already made a friend. Warmth filled me at the thought of that blond boy with his amazing blue eyes becoming my friend. And that night, when I pulled up the covers all the way to my chin, I wondered when I would see him again, whispering the wish to make it tomorrow into the feathers of my pillow.

It was two days later when we met again. He and his mother, a woman with a preposterous hairdo, were already standing in front of one of the many classroom door’s of the music school, waiting to be let in, and fate had it that it so happened to be the one right next to mine.

They looked up, when they heard us approach, Sabo grinning widely, his mother pursing her coloured lips. My mother quickly introduced us, eager to make new acquaintances, and when Lady Outlook heard our last name she made the connection, politely but with overt curiosity inquiring about my mother's maiden name. Portgas. Nobles from the south, and, albeit not as high standing as the Outlook Family, people worth being acquainted with. Her face twisted into a smile and her dull eyes narrowed, the crinkles framing them giving her a sly look, as she placed her flat palm between her son's shoulder blades, pushing him forward for our scrutiny, while at the same time telling his name.

Outlook Sabo.

As it turned out, Sabo was only a couple of months younger than myself and had played the violin since he had been old enough to hold the bow. Though, Lady Outlook added with an exasperated sigh, it seemed he was much more drawn to the inferior—as she called it—cello, which was entirely inexplicable to her. Sabo only grinned mischievously, sapphire eyes glinting, and I bit the inside of my cheek to suppress a snigger.

Our mothers seemed to get along quite well, engaging in superficial chitchat, while we eyed each other up. Sabo was the one extending his hand in greeting first, though.

“I’m Sabo,” he said unceremoniously, grinning.

Introducing himself again might have been superfluous, yet somehow it wasn’t. Telling me again made me feel special in a way, as if I had just been let in on a secret only the two of us shared now, as if there was a ring to his name his mother always missed when saying it and therefore always failed to grasp the person behind it. I mirrored his action, taking his hand, shaking it like I had seen the grown men do, giving up my name in return to form the bond.

Seconds later found us sitting on the marble floor of the hall with Sabo proudly showing me every inch of his beloved violin and I was an attentive listener, eagerly absorbing every word coming out of his mouth. My eyes were wide with interest, sparkling with happiness at the fact that I was already talking to him, that he was talking to me, that we were about to become friends and that he loved music just as much as I did.

We laughed and smiled until the teachers opened the doors to the class rooms, ushering us inside. Our mothers said their good-byes for the time being, promising to pick us up again once we were done and left, and, with a last lingering glance on Sabo's profile, I stepped inside the room.

During my lesson that day I was uncharacteristically fidgety, my fingers hurrying over the black and white keys in a rush, as if increasing the tempo of the pieces given to me for practice meant I would be able to leave earlier than usual, fearing that I would miss my smiling friend otherwise. Of course my teacher scolded me for not paying attention to the instructions on my music sheets and made me play them again and again until he was satisfied.

When I was finally free to go my hands and wrists ached, fragments of various classical pieces whirling around in my exhausted mind. However, the moment I stepped outside all fatigue evaporated when I caught Sabo waiting for me in the empty hall, casually leaning against the wall, his toothy, wide smile already bright on his face.

“Ace,” he exclaimed cheerfully, and was immediately shushed by both our teachers.

Sheepishly rubbing his neck he pushed himself off the wall, grabbing my hand and pulling me along down the hall, throwing occasional glances over his shoulders to check if the teachers were listening in on us, but they had already vanished back into their class rooms. I was lead into a deserted, dark corridor leading to another wing of the spacious building and Sabo leaned in conspiratorially once we had turned the corner, his smile morphing into a roguish grin, a wicked gleam in his sea blue eyes.

“Say, Ace. Have you ever been to the Grey Terminal?” he asked, voice hushed but laced with excitement, eyes suspiciously darting from side to side to check whether someone was eavesdropping. My heart rate picked up when I noticed his secretive behaviour, sensing adventure and danger.

“Hu-uh.” I shook my head, sucking in my lips in anticipation.

Sabo’s grin widened.

“Alright then, listen. Tomorrow you’re going to come here alone. Tell your mother you don’t need her to bring you here and that you've been invited to dinner at my place. And after class I’ll take you there! I bet you’ve never seen anything like it!” His eyes shone bright at the prospect of adventure, excitement and the possibility of trouble, and without even giving it a second thought I nodded eagerly.

“Is it going to be dangerous?” I asked, eyes wide with fascination and anticipation.

“You bet!” Sabo assured me and I was relieved since I had firmly believed that I had left all the fun times behind when I had said good-bye to Luffy and my old home, but now I had made a new friend. One who seemed to be just as eager as I to explore the world and sneak into places boys of our standing were not expected to be. And then when Luffy would come to visit me I would take him with us and show him around, brag to him about all the trouble I had gotten myself into and the things I had seen, and his big round hazel eyes would go wide in admiration and envy.

I just wanted to tell Sabo about him when we heard footsteps on the stairs close by and hastily scurried out of the corridor to be met by our mothers’ questioning looks. We put on our most innocent smiles, following them maybe a bit too well-behaved, barely able to contain our excitement when giving each other covert looks.

When I told my mother about my plans for the next evening over dinner that night she was thrilled, expressing how glad she was that I had already made a friend in such a short time and one who even seemed to be a talented musician no less. Now my father also wanted to know more about that boy, though his face fell a little at the mention of the Outlook name, but I payed it no mind, already too absorbed in my daydreams over what would await me the next day, shovelling food into my mouth, perfectly mimicking my father's lack of table manners.

Not even when he said, “It seems your mother’s name opens the door even up here in the north,” taking a big gulp of beer and licking the white foam of his moustache afterwards, did I notice his discontent. And how could I when I was still a child without any understanding for politics and the dominance of the aristocracy in our country?

To me Sabo was just a boy I wanted to befriend, who apparently shared my passion for music and getting into trouble, and had showed me his instrument and offered me a trip to a forbidden part of the city on the first day we had talked. Neither did I care for the title he carried nor for the position his father held, not realising at the time that it had been my own standing in our society’s hierarchy that made it even possible for me to be so carefree and ignorant about it all.

“I'm sure Sabo has nothing to do with his politics, Roger,” my mother reprimanded gently.

“Not yet at least,” my father added, swiping his mouth with a napkin to brush off a few crumbs in a rare revival of etiquette, a sure sign that he was already trying to appease my mother, even if just unconsciously. He clapped my back with so much force I almost found my face in my mashed potatoes, startling me from my daydreams. “But you know that your father’s from the working class, right, son? And there’s no reason to be ashamed of it no matter what that pompous prick’s gonna say tomorrow, you hear me?”

“Roger!”

He just laughed that raucous laughter of his, winking at my mother, who in turn rolled her beautiful hazel eyes in fake exasperation at my father's antics, taking a sip from her crystal wine glass to hide a tender smile while I blinked a bit befuddled.

I was not yet old enough to grasp the exact meaning of the gestures my parents exchanged, the small jokes they shared without saying a word, but I was able to feel the chemistry between them, the utter trust and understanding that filled the room, and it was that feeling which I should forever affiliate with my childhood days—warmth, love, happiness and safety, the safety to know that, no matter who I decided to become, they would always support and love me regardless.

A couple of years later I should learn that fortune had not favoured everyone like that.

But meanwhile my mother returned her attention to me.

“On our way out Lady Outlook told me that Sabo started playing the violin when he was three. I’d love to hear him. I'm sure it sounds wonderful!” And soon enough that familiar enraptured look was back on her pretty freckled face again. “Maybe you two could even play a duet some day. What do you think, Ace? Doesn't that sound lovely?”

I stopped chewing for a moment. Until my mother had brought it up the thought had not even crossed my mind, but now it seemed strangely intriguing. Ever since I had started playing I had usually played solo pieces, or pieces for four hands, and never with another instrument.

I put my fork down next to my plate, still staring at my mother, already going through all the duet pieces I knew, and which I was suddenly very eager to play and not just listen to.

My mother chuckled softly when she spotted the growing smile on my face.

* * *

The next day at class I was able to control myself enough to not be asked to repeat the pieces over and over again, even though I was barely able to hide my excitement over our secret adventure. When the church bell tolled five my teacher clapped his hands together, smiling contently before handing me a folder with notes he had prepared for me to practice over the weekend. I thanked him for his time and hurried out the door, Sabo already waiting for me, casually leaning against the wall again.

“Let’s go!” he said, smiling and I nodded enthusiastically, tagging along.

Since the Grey Terminal was located at the southern edge of town and no taxi driver working on Main Road was crazy enough to venture that far out of the city centre past nightfall—as Sabo had already explained to me on our way out—we would have to walk for a bit and take a few shortcuts he had come across over the years, before taking a carriage in one of the poorer suburbs where people were always in need of money and never asked too many questions at the prospect of making some to get to our final destination.

I had no objections, of course, happy to go with anything that was out of the ordinary, my cheeks already flush with excitement, the same pink tint mirrored on Sabo’s own face. His sea blue eyes were alight with a fire fuelled by the feeling of freedom he was experiencing, stealing away from expectations and conformity and the suffocating rules those of the aristocracy had to adhere to. I knew nothing of all that as I followed him through the narrow, dark alleys, jumping over cardboard boxes and trash cans, startling cats and rats hastily scurrying away with a rustle.

The Grey Terminal turned out to be the city’s main dump for everything, an enormously wide heap of trash. Old pieces of furniture mixed with thrown out clothes, scraps of food and what else the city's inhabitants deemed useless, with people being no exception. We climbed the jagged hills, hands and faces covered in dust and dirt within minutes, wielding some old pipes we had found on the way.

When we had climbed the top of one trash mountain, stopping to catch out breaths, I told Sabo about Luffy and how we used to dream of being pirates, had even built a tree house high up in the crown of an ancient oak in the forest behind my grandparents' estate, pretending to sail the endless green leave sea stretching out before us. Sabo seemed to like the idea, because not a moment later he jumped to his feet, thrusting his pipe into the starry sky, exclaiming that we had landed on this godforsaken island after months of hardship out on the merciless sea to find the buried treasure.

However, when we finally returned to Sabo's family's town hose, only a couple of blocks away from the music school, his mother scolded us terribly. Of course we had tried to wash off most of the evidence, but our shirts were stained with grease and dirt, and even torn in some places, and most definitely beyond saving. As for our hands and knees, luckily, they were only covered in minor, shallow cuts and bruises.

Smiling sheepishly, yet with an impish gleam to our adventure glazed eyes, we followed a maid and a butler and were thrown into the bathtub, neither of us putting up much of a fight. It dawned on me that it was not the first time that either of them had to help clean Sabo up after his adventures, it just so happened to be the first time that his mother had caught him. But they kept a straight face as long as she went on with her tirade, smiling amusedly once she had left the room. Afterwards, we had to promise to stay away from the dump in the future and of course we swore a solemn oath to return the next chance we got.

My mother was only mildly shocked when she heard about our little trip, probably having expected something of the sort to happen sooner or later, especially after my past antics with Luffy back home, but she threw in a round of scolding for good measure and proper parenting nonetheless, while my father watched on without saying a word, only winking at me and hiding a proud grin behind his moustache.

* * *

Over the years we got better and better at sneaking away after class. We learned to store an additional set of pants and shirts somewhere on the way to the Grey Terminal as well as a cloth to wash with, and even wore a pair of sturdy leather gloves to protect our hands from telltale marks and more severe injuries. And whenever things had gotten a little out of hand again, we stopped at my place first, our household staff soon becoming accomplices in our adventures, helping out with patches and ointments and mending the tears in our clothes, laughing at the colourful stories we would tell.

Years slipped by like that, and Sabo and I became inseparable. Sometimes Luffy would visit us for a week or two, and we would take him with us to the seedy parts of town to show him the proper city life, his eyes big as saucers when we scoured the dump for the first time. But then there were also the times when I would return home to visit my grandparents, enjoying a few weeks of the laid-back lifestyle of the countryside.

Every now and then Sabo would even be allowed to accompany me, though probably only because of my mother's persuasiveness and my grandparent's name. My parents would make sure we boarded the train safely, waving from the platform. Sabo's parents never came to see him off, but neither he nor I were bothered by this. On the contrary. They only would have spoiled the fun, since excited giggling was absolutely forbidden in their presence and talking about all the things we were planning to do was entirely out of the question. Sabo would have never been allowed to join me ever again had they found out what we usually got ourselves into.

There was nothing dearer to me than spending time with Sabo, except maybe having Luffy visit and playing the piano. He was like my other half, my best friend, loyal to the core, honest and upright, caring and even sharing my deep passion for music. Not seeing him for two days in a row made my heart ache, almost as if I suffered from withdrawal symptoms, and I brimmed with happiness the moment I saw him again. But it was not until after my sixteenth birthday that I should realise just how much he meant to me.

* * *

Being friends for so long and even visiting the same music school one might have thought we had probably played a thousand duets by then. Especially, since my mother had mentioned that possibility during dinner the very first day we had talked, but surprisingly, we had never gotten around to it until seven years later.

The middle of June was when Lady Outlook usually hosted her annual garden party, taking place at the Outlook Family’s palatial country house located east of the capital, and usually the month’s most lavish social gathering as well as the event that at least the capital's aristocracy simply had to attend, swarms of politicians and other important people in tow. It was famous for two things mostly: the priced roses Lady Outlook's gardeners spent all year growing with the utmost care and which filled the early summer day’s air with their intoxicating scent, and the attendance of at least one of the princesses, usually showing off some new fashion for the Ladies of the noble houses to wear during summer.

White pavilions would dot the green vastness of the garden, butlers carrying silver trays with small delicacies and crystal glass champagne flutes would wander from guest to guest offering refreshments and snacks, while some people would play cards or indulge in the latest gossip or discuss politics to the soft tunes of a string quintet.

Sabo and I would normally pass time by trying to sneak into the kitchen unnoticed and steal morsels from under the chef’s nose, running off to the stables the moment we got caught to distribute the haul. Of course we were usually also required to stand by our mothers’ sides, talking to guests, though Sabo was the one who had to endure the more tedious procedure, being the sole heir to the Outlook title. He would stand there in his snugly fitting tux, short cropped blond hair glowing in the midmorning sun, offering a dazzling smile to anyone who approached. The smile was fake, of course, the real one, which would crinkle the corner of his eyes, had long since been deemed too precious for the likes of his peers to be seen and was now solely used when no one except for me could see or was present.

I admired him for his endurance, while pitting him at the same time. It was not the role he wanted to play, but due to his birth he had been denied the freedom of choice. Unlike me, who stood next to his mother to keep her company in that gathering of people we had so very little in common, let alone were able to identify with. Everyone was always polite, of course, just like etiquette demanded, but it was clear we were only tolerated, because of some kind of social tradition and the necessity to honour an old house, even though its significance was long since fading.

However, that year Sabo's mother seemed to have already been anticipating us to disturb the kitchen’s work and had therefore approached us with the suggestions to contribute to this year's party by entertaining her illustrious guests with some music. A grand piano would be rolled outside for me and conveniently placed on the veranda below the awning for everyone to see and hear, while Sabo would stand next to me, playing his violin.

We had started practicing together as soon as the idea had come up, both eager to finally join our musical expertise as well as being equally determined to enrapture those guests with our music, and therefore, what my mother had suggested years ago, finally came to be.

Of course I had heard Sabo play his instruments before. He was virtuous with the violin, but the cello was his favourite, and I loved listening to him playing both of them without distinction. I would sit there and watch him as he played with his sea blue eyes closed, an enraptured, yet highly concentrated look on his beautiful face, his long, slender fingers skilfully dancing along the bridge, pressing down the strings with just the right force, while his other hand urged the bow back and forth—leisurely sometimes, only to break into a frenzy with the next bar. His body would sway gently to the melodies his hands coaxed from the strings and wooden corpus, the curve of his lips often mimicking the atmosphere of the song, and as I set there and listened, the music would fill my mind, carrying my thoughts off to far away imaginary places.

During those moments we shared an intimacy we never questioned. Being there, being a part seemed entirely natural to us, and thus I had never had any suspicion about my feelings for Sabo. He had practically been there since the day I had moved to the capital, a constantly present figure during my adolescence. Having him by my side, sharing my hopes and dreams as well as my fears with him felt like second nature.

He would encourage and reassure me, when I lacked confidence, but would also reprimand whenever my flaring temper had gotten the better of me again. This was often the case, when I was practising a new piece that just refused to be played properly, at least by my hands. I would rage and curse, and he would yell back at me, successfully stunning me into silence before making room for himself beside me on the piano stool. He would brush away a few strands of my raven hair and tug them behind my ear, leaving behind a pleasant tingling where his fingers had touched my cheek, a content serenity spreading throughout my entire body.

Gingerly taking one of my hands into his own, he would then bring it up to his face, pressing its back to his cheek ever so softly, sapphire eyes overflowing with warmth and affection as he looked at me, whispering, “Don't curse the hands I cherish like my own… If not more,” and granting me that captivating smile of his, which had captured my imagination all those years ago on my way up the stairs at our music school.

This would usually leave me dumbfounded and, all of a sudden, I was highly ashamed of my unbridled outburst, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. How did I deserve such a gentle, kind-hearted friend? I did not know, but I would soak up all of his well-meant gestures like a dried up sponge. It probably even got to the point where I would pretend to be frustrated more often than I actually was, just to receive his signs of affection, basking in his warmth like a lazy cat on a windowsill on a sunny spring day after a cold, hard winter.

He had most likely noticed one day and realised that, sometimes, it was all just an act, but he never called me out on it, the only thing giving him away the small knowing smile playing around his lips whenever he would sit down to brush my hair out of my brow and press his cheek to the back of my hand.

However, when the day of the long awaited garden party had finally come, I was surprised, and also a bit shocked, to see him nervously pacing the whole length of the room we had been given to prepare ourselves ahead of our performance. I watched on helplessly as his beautiful face twisted more and more with his growing anxiety, and whenever he pulled back the curtain just a little to look at the guests gathering outside, a stifled groan escaped him before he sharply turned around again, the curtain rustling back into place.

I had never seen Sabo like this before. He was always so composed, so confident. And judging from the looks of it, he wasn't used to such a level of stage fright either. It was even more surprising since this hardly was his first time playing for an audience. Our school had organised small concerts all the time so we would get used to it, and there was not a single piece we were planning on playing today with which he had had difficulties during practise. The only one who had occasionally shown nerves had been me, because I had a tendency to doubt my abilities.

After a couple of more minutes of aimless wandering, almost like a giant cat in a cage eager to escape its constricting confinement, he finally sat down beside me, bent over and covered his face with his trembling hands.

What was I supposed to do? I was at a loss. He was the one usually comforting me, not the other way around, and I felt bad for my inability to console him, desperately raking my brains for a way to help him. Until I decided to simply do as he normally did.

Carding my fingers through his short golden hair, I tried to get him to relax. He looked up, surprise mixed into his gaze, sea blue eyes still darkened by his haunted expression, though. So I gently took his hand into my own in an attempt to copy him, bringing it up to my face before softly kissing the tips of two of his fingers, closing my eyes to appreciate our small moment of intimacy, not in the least aware of what I was doing.

When I opened my eyes again, the anguished look on his face had been replaced by an astonished one, and only then the meaning of my actions dawned on me. Heat rushed to my cheeks, my neck burning with embarrassment and I hastily let go of Sabo's hand, averting my gaze, my heart in my throat. But it was not even a second later that my face was turned back again and I was forced to look into those bottomless pools of blue, breath catching in my throat as I was confronted with that dazzling, radiant smile of his. He pulled me close, his eyes fluttering shut and he carefully pressed his lips to mine.

Frozen in shock and unable to form a coherent thought, I sat there, still, neither responding nor rejecting until finally, finally, my feelings, my instincts, compensated for my useless brain, taking over my body and I realised just how perfect Sabo's lips felt against my own. Pushing away my initial reserve I leaned in, hands curling around his waist to bring us closer together, moving my lips against his.

Bliss exploded in my belly like a swarm of butterflies and when we pulled away again, we both turned away shyly, but with a stupidly happy grin on our faces nonetheless. No words were necessary to explain our actions, the fact that we still held each other’s hands leaving no room for wrong assumptions.

And just like that Sabo's nervousness had vanished and the whole performance had somehow been turned into an insignificant happening played out on the sidelines, my head already filled with musings of what we would do the moment we got a minute to ourselves, the lingering burn left on my lips a constant reminder, making me yearn for more of Sabo's taste.

That night, after I had returned home with my mother, I lay awake until the early hours of the morning, incapable of finding sleep. Plagued by love-induced insomnia, restlessly throwing myself from side to side, my pulse quickened every time the feeling of Sabo's soft, full lips crossed my buzzing mind again. The memory so vivid it was as if I was still in that very room with him and our mouths had only just separated.

Never before had I felt more alive, more present, more happy. I had never questioned my feelings for Sabo before that incident and I should never question them thereafter either. Suddenly, I was complete, whole, as if a piece, which had been missing so far but without me ever noticing its absence, had been returned to me. Though now that I had rediscovered it, I was convinced that I would not be able to exist without it should I ever lose it again.

From that day onwards, it was impossible to keep Sabo and me away from each other. Of course we were always discrete about our mutual affection for one another, stealing a kiss, or two, only when we were sure no one was watching. Instead, we resorted to communicate our feelings through loving gestures only we knew the true meaning of; reassuring smiles, the fleeting brush of a hand on a shoulder or an arm, heated gazes. None of our parents ever questioned our demands to always spend time with one another, quite the contrary. Both our mothers even encouraged it, since it seemed to be the beginning of our musical success.

The concert we had given at the garden party was all the talk in town even two weeks later. Our joined play had been on spot throughout every piece, creating a perfect, breathtaking harmony, completely capturing our audience with the sounds of our instruments. I had already marvelled at how easy and natural it had felt to play with Sabo during our practice sessions, but after we had shared that first kiss it was as if, all of a sudden, there was some secret connection tying our minds and bodies together, telling him exactly how to play a certain part of a piece to perfectly match my tempo. And instead of just playing alongside one another we complemented, even completed us.

When the last tone had faded away that day even the birds had gone silent, the people in the audience staring at us wide-eyed, amazed and mesmerised by the sounds they had just heard before breaking into thunderous applause. Sabo and I had just sheepishly glanced at one another, the newly formed bond between us still vibrating with all the new emotions and impressions we had just received after sharing that secret kiss, a bit taken aback by the intensity. Playing with him had been marvellous, too, and I wanted to do it again and again, almost as much as I wanted to kiss him, eager to relive that perfect moment.

However, the day of our first joint performance as well as our first kiss, should have also been the end of our, more or less, carelessly spent childhood. After that day in June our trips to the Grey Terminal should become less and less frequent until we stopped venturing out there entirely. Instead, our days would be filled with countless hours of practise and repetition, by ourselves or together, and eventually also with the first concerts at locations in our parts of town, at private soirées held by one of Lady Outlook's many friends or other gatherings. But once word had made the round we started to play at smaller concert halls, too, soon followed by requests from neighbouring cities.

The warm pride in my mother's eyes would have probably been enough compensation on its own for all the long hours I spent practising—forcing my fingers to play round after round of tremolos until they would trip over the keys, stiff and sore, or those pieces, during which I had to restrain my temper, to create slow, sensual melodies. But the real reason for my unfaltering, everlasting motivation, was knowing Sabo would be by my side.

Whenever I thought I had reached my limit, that there was no next level for me to achieve, that my hands were simply incapable of mastering the perfection and finesse it took to play a particular piece, Sabo was there, urging me on, pushing me past the mental boundaries I had set for myself so I could soar to new heights.

Sometimes he would take the lead with his violin or the cello in a way that made clear he was throwing down the musical gauntlet, and since I had never been one to turn down a challenge, I suddenly found myself in the middle of a musical competition with my best friend and lover. Our favourite piece for such a trial of strength was ‘The Flight of the Bumblebee’ by Nikolai Rymski-Korsakov. We would spend hours on end trying to establish who was able to play it faster and after my third defeat, I had to admit that it was him, and most likely always would be.

But there were also those times, when Sabo felt like simply lounging on the sofa situated next to the grand piano at my home, sapphire eyes closed and a captivated look on his angelic face, wordlessly listening to my interpretation of the adagio part of Beethoven’s ’Moonlight Sonata’.

Most times he even got up after a while and, once he had ensured that we were alone and would also remain undisturbed for the next couple of minutes, he would stroll over to where I sat and walk around me in a semicircle with one hand on my shoulder, watching as my fingers struck key after key, creating the piece’s typical floating notes. His presence was always calming and nerve-wrecking at the same time, and I was barely able to concentrate and keep the slow tempo, when his hand would wander up my bare neck and into my hair, slender fingers carding through my raven waves.

It took some time for me to learn how to actually keep playing while leaning into his touch, but then my hands found their way over the black and white keys automatically even with my eyes closed and my mind occupied with other things besides the next bar I had to play.

And then, when the last cord had finally faded, he would lean down, yet at the same time lifting my chin until I met with his eager lips, and I complied only too willingly, always greedy for his kisses.

* * *

Months passed and seasons came and went. Our relationship remained a secret, though one, which became harder and harder to hide. We would spend hours on end practising together, but the more people demanded us the less time we had to ourselves. With the growing support and attention we received, most of our practise sessions were now supervised by teachers, making it more difficult to steal a moment or two of privacy.

Passionate, drawn out kisses while I sat at the piano were replaced by a hurried clash of tongues and teeth in the darker, less frequented corridors of the Outlook Mansion, where we were now practising, with both our hands becoming bolder over time. Slipping below the hem of a dress shirt or ghosting over the fly of a pair of pants, they often left a state of undress behind, which would then be hastily smoothed over by frantic fingers tugging everything in place again whenever the sound of people approaching echoed through the halls.

By then, we were already playing all across the country. Even down in the south where I occasionally had the chance to visit my family and Luffy. But no matter how much I enjoyed playing with Sabo, the strain the constant traveling and rehearsing put us through, became more and more visible. Dark circles were now a constant presence on our worn looking faces and more often than not I would stagger to bed, falling asleep on top of the covers without even removing my clothes, resulting in reproach from whoever came in the next morning to wake me.

However, no matter how exhausted we were and how much we yearned for a few weeks off, we never failed to play for our ever growing audience. The glow in people’s eyes always reminding us of the impact our music had, and at the end of every concert we would bow and wave, thanking our listeners with honest smiles, taking chances when smiling at each other as well. The curve of our lips always a little brighter, a little wider, when the loving gesture was only meant for the other.

And then came the summer after my eighteenth birthday.

The past couple of months had been hot and humid with barely any rain to provide some relief from the sweltering heat. Wherever we played, the concert halls were always packed, but the longer the drought went on the harder it became to play properly. When we returned home, after a four week long tour of the south east, that summer, my mother’s hands flew up to stifle a shocked cry, when she and my father came to pick us up from the capital's main station.

That evening she went out to meet with our manager, after a long, and—as I should later find out—also heated debate with Sabo's mother, cancelling the rest of our performances for the rest of that summer as well as forbidding us to touch any kind of instrument for at least the next two weeks.

I was somewhat relieved to be banned from playing the piano, knowing quite well that I was in need of some serious rest away from it for a while. However, I already missed it dearly after only two days of abstinence, all sensible thoughts of taking a break in favour of my health already pushed to the back of my mind. I became restless and a bit moody, unsure what to do with myself now that I had so much free time at hand. As always I confided in Sabo and he smiled knowingly, gently nudging my shoulder with his as we walked through the shade provided by the large plane trees of a neighbouring park.

“Why don’t we take the bicycles and go for a little ride tomorrow? There’s a nice spot down by the river where the current isn’t too strong and the water is shallow. I’m sure I can even persuade my cook to prepare some lunch for us to take with,” he proposed and I was thrilled by the idea, eager to leave the house for more than just a couple of hours, and even more so at the prospect of spending a whole day alone with Sabo.

When we said goodbye that evening, though, our silhouettes obscured by the muted twilight of a rapidly setting sun and huddled together in an alley not too far from Sabo’s home, our kisses suddenly became desperate, and it seemed as if my arms were not able to hold Sabo close enough for me to be satisfied. I pushed him up against the wall, grinding my hips against his, his growing hardness rubbing against my own embarrassingly obvious arousal. He whined, his fingers tugging at my dark strands more fiercely and for a moment my heart stopped before it tumbled in its frantic attempted to start an erratic beat from nothing, when I became aware of the needy sounds I was able to elicit from him. My pulse hammered so wildly through my veins I started to feel dizzy, staring at Sabo's flushed face through a wondrous haze.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered hotly against my lips. “Tomorrow,” he said again, just to make sure. More out of encouragement for himself than a promise to me.

It would have happened even without his statement. Both of us filled to the brim with withheld affection, yearning for a moment, when we would finally be alone, to try and finish what had been started by curious, daring hands so many times before in a narrow hall or hidden alley. But it had never felt right then, and we had returned to fully concentrate on our music once more, cravings left unsatisfied.

Dinner with my parents that night was such an unusually silent affair even I, in my dreamy state, had to notice. I was not particularly interested in the reasons, but eventually found out that it was due to the ever growing threat of war overshadowing our country’s supposedly bright future. It should have been impossible to miss the daily news on another political clash between our king and the leaders of the neighbouring countries, but since I had been so absorbed in practise day in and day out as well as giving concerts, I had lived inside a bubble of obliviousness. There were also occasional reports and rumours of violent outbreaks in one of the country's largest cities, located further southeast. Apparently shops of owners belonging to certain ethnicities had been looted and destroyed by a rioting mob mostly consisting of armed Royalists.

This enraged my father so much that he actually had to excuse himself from the dinner table, leaving the room under a string of angrily muttered curses. My mother had been about to follow him, but I held her back by putting my hand on top of her own, silently reminding her that it was best to just leave him be in this state and grant him some time to cool down. I knew, because there were times, when I was the same, having inherited my father's flaring temper, though the reason, stirring up my anger back then, were much more trivial. So all we did for the rest of supper was glancing over at the door from time to time, wondering, when he would return.

That my father was passionate about politics was nothing new to me. He was one of the voices in the country demanding for the king to be dethroned and for a democratically elected parliament to be installed instead, but since the majority of people still seemed to be in favour of our monarchy, his demands, and those of others, fell on deaf ears. Even more so now that we were on the brink of war. People were scared and not even the fact that those thugs, raiding shops in the southeastern cities, were mostly Royalists, did anything to weaken the king's position. Probably also, because dislike against those affected had been ingrained in the people for centuries.

My mother admitted that this sort of behaviour had become quite normal for him during the last couple of months, but since I had been away most of the time, I had never witnessed it before, though sometimes he would also just sit there in brooding silence and no matter how much she longed to ask what bothered him, she remained silent, knowing that he was reluctant to tell her, because he did not want to burden her with the stories he had come across at the agency. But two weeks prior to Sabo’s and my return home he had finally confided in her and that had been, when she had found out how precarious the situation really was. I briefly thought about asking for more details, but just as quickly dismissed the notion again, not wanting to further dampen the already somber mood.

He returned just when my mother had dapped her petal shaped lips with her linen napkin, her plate in the same state since he had left, fork and knife neatly placed beside it. Apologising with a kiss to her temple, caressing the back of her head, he resumed his seat at the head of the table once more, sipping from the glass of Scotch he had brought with him.

But the approaching war was not what kept me up that night, because once I had switched off the light the country's political situation was the last thing on my mind. All I could think about was Sabo’s hot, erratic breath fanning out over my face and the sweet promise he had made to me. In vivid mental pictures I imagined how we would hurriedly take off our clothes the moment we had made it to the sandy river bank, jumping into the cool stream with a joyous cry of relief, not a piece of clothing covering our bodies. We would splash water at each other until I suddenly held him in my arms, mouths already joined in a passionate kiss. He would wrap his legs around my waist as I carried him through the gurgling waters, before putting him down on a bed of soft green grass and finally, finally we would be united in an entirely new way.

The sheer thought made my pulse vibrate loudly in my ears and I bit one hand to stifle a moan rolling up my throat as I stroked my throbbing cock with the other.

The next morning, my mother threw me bemused glances over breakfast and I could hardly blame her. I had barely slept, because every time the thought of Sabo ringing the doorbell to pick me up for our trip had crossed my mind, a whirl of warm fuzzy feelings had made my guts twist and turn, leaving my stomach with tight knots and a light but not unpleasant nausea. It was not like me to be this nervous around Sabo, but then it was not like we were two ordinary friends going for a picnic on a hot summer’s day either.

When finally the doorbell rang, I jumped in my chair, causing my mother to chuckle amusedly before she rose to greet Sabo while I sprinted up the stairs to quickly brush my teeth and fetch my bag. Their casual chatting travelled up the stairs as I came back down and I swallowed thickly, when I heard Sabo's deep voice, my palms suddenly sweaty and my legs trembling slightly, holding onto the banister as if it was a lifeline.

They suspended their talk for a moment, when they had heard me on the stairs, looking up at me and I stood there, frozen to the spot. Sabo blinked, the physical signs of my nervousness not going unnoticed, but then I was presented with the most radiant, dazzling smile he had to offer. The corner of his eyes crinkled up softly as his lips stretched widely over two rows of perfectly pearly white teeth, his sapphire eyes alight with love and happiness, his beautiful face glowing with affection. My breath hitched in my throat and I swallowed drily again to calm my nerves, my tongue a thick, furry object too big for my mouth.

“You ready?” he asked with an edge to his voice only I was able to identify the true meaning of and I willed myself out of my stupor, descending the rest of the stairs, nodding in confirmation.

“I hope you two enjoy yourselves! You deserve it after all this hard work. Take care, yes?” my mother said, following us a bit before lingering in the doorway where I briefly kissed the top of her head, suddenly not so flustered anymore, and then took my leave, both of us waving at her as we followed the paved pathway to the gate.

The butler was waiting for us, holding onto both our bicycles and, thanking him, I swung one leg over the saddle before pushing off with one foot, Sabo right behind me, the butler’s kind words of goodbye mixing with the sounds of a busy morning street.

Once we had reached the outskirts of the city we turned onto a more deserted road, which quickly turned into a country lane. The basket tied to the carrier of Sabo's bicycle rattled with every bump on the path, glasses tingling, and we had even rolled the sleeves of our shirts all the way up to our elbows, so the occasional cool morning breeze could bring some relief in the already warm and sultry air. The headwind played with my waves, mussing them some more and the longer we peddled on the broader my wide grin became.

We entered a small forest with oaks and beeches providing shade, the sweltering air suddenly not so oppressive and suffocating anymore. After that came fields and grassy hills dotted with trees, kettle and barns, followed by a sea of gently swaying golden grain, the soft rustle mixing with the cicada's chirping song. It was a perfect summer day’s symphony, the scent of warm earth filling our noses.

Since there was no one around Sabo and I cycled next to each other most of the way, talking and laughing and sometimes throwing a quick glancing at each other, and the moment we spotted the river bank we raced towards our destination like maniacs. My eyes went wide at the sight of the river’s swirling, gurgling waters and the riverbed could even be seen due to the lack of rain. We found a secluded spot, hidden from direct view by anyone who came down the same path as we had by a few bushes, untying the basket and the blanket and carefully putting our bicycles down on the ground. We both just stood there for a moment or two, marvelling at the sight before us, before we suddenly kicked off our shoes and took off our socks, rolling our tweed pants up to our knees and dashing for the water with a joyous cry.

The cool soothing softness of the water spiralling around our calfs brought immediate relief and it did not take long for us to break into a little wrestling-match, trying to trip the other and force him below the surface for just a moment, our euphoric shouts clearly audible over the splashing of water. In the end, neither of us had won, since in stumbling backwards, I had slipped on a smooth, wet stone and all my flailing hands were able to hold onto as I lost my equilibrium was Sabo’s arm, pulling him with me, both of us vanishing with a loud splash. Coughing and spluttering we rose to the surface again, shaking our heads and spraying glittering droplets everywhere, our soaked clothes heavily hanging off our shoulders. We blinked stupidly for a moment, a bit disoriented, before bursting into uncontrollable laughter, splattering the other with more water. Not that it was doing any damage at that point.

Sabo was the first to be back on his feet, offering a supporting hand, and I had half a mind to yank him back into the current, but the rumbling of my stomach made me push aside the idea only too quickly. I took his hand with a grateful smile and not a moment later we waded through the river back to the grassy bank, where a basket filled with food was waiting for us. I spread out the blanket and Sabo started to unpack the delicacies his cook had prepared. We did not even bother with taking our wet clothes off, enjoying the cooling they offered. Even though it might have been the perfect opportunity to initiate what we had initially been planning to do now that we were finally alone and undisturbed. But while I munched on my ham sandwich, covertly glancing at Sabo every now and then, his fair skin shimmering beneath the now transparent fabric of his shirt, the cloth clinging tightly to the curves of his body, I suddenly felt awkward and self-conscious, timid even.

We had longed for this moment alone for so long, had almost given up hope, only for me to have cold feet now. I quickly looked away again, heat rushing to my cheeks.

What was I even supposed to do? Was Sabo expecting me to take the first step? Or would he? I had a rough idea of how the whole thing worked, because, out of teenage curiosity, we had snuck into a particular brothel one night. It was the kind of establishment, where women would offer their services on the upper stories, while down in the basement there were men waiting for other men. Since it was close to the Grey Terminal, the police hardly cared, but it was still dangerous to go there.

Homosexuality was punishable by law and, depending on who had been caught, the punishment varied from a hefty fine to a few years in prison. Some were forced by society to undergo agonising procedures to cure their sickness or lived as outcasts. Being severely beaten by either the police or later in prison, some even succumbing to their injuries, was no rarity. However, at least I was more scared of my parents finding out at the time than ending in prison as for Sabo, I didn't know. We had never talked about it, but since he was usually paying closer attention to the happenings of our world, he probably did, but kept quiet nonetheless.

But in our youthful cockiness we had simply assumed we wouldn't get caught, the thrill of entering forbidden territory way more enticing than the prospects of being captured were daunting. So after one last reassuring look we had followed the creaking stairs to the lowest level and squeezed into a corner somewhere close to a curtain, cheeks flushed with excitement and a rapidly beating heart in our chests. Carefully, Sabo had pulled the curtain aside, so we could peek inside the makeshift room, holding hands for support.

The two men on the ruffled bed had already been completely undressed and we had watched with wide eyes as hands had explored and bodies had been joined until, suddenly, there had been noise from the stairs close by. Startled, Sabo had let go of the curtain and we had scrambled back to our feet, dashing for the exit. However, the owner had already spotted us, chasing after us with much shouting and cursing, but letting us escape in the end. We had run until we had reached the safety of the city centre again, stumbling into a dimly lit alley, and with bent backs and hands resting on our knees, we had waited for our racing hearts to settle. When even breathing had started to fill the quiet of the night again, we had looked at each other, instantly breaking into a fit of elated laughter.

Sabo had wiped away the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes with his sleeve, cleared his throat a few times in an attempt to calm down, before his hands had reached out for my face. The moment his fingers touched my cheek, the last fits of laughter died in my throat and I had licked my lips at the sight of clear determination on his face. He had pulled me close, pressing his lips to mine, declaring that intention, which had just formed in his head.

However, now that the moment had come, there were so many thoughts, so many questions bothering me, I started to panic. I even had to put down my sandwich, when a wave of nausea washed over me, tightening my guts. It wanted everything to be perfect, but without experience, how was I supposed to make it happen, make it unforgettable? And then there was the possibility of hurting Sabo. The simple idea made my head spin. Not for a moment would I be willing to accept that risk.

I jumped, when Sabo rested his hand on my shoulder, a worried frown wrinkling his brow.

“Ace? Are you okay?” he asked softly, sea blue eyes full of concern.

I bit my lip in distress and Sabo moved closer until he sat right next to me, his thigh pressing against mine, hot and cold at the same time. Carefully, he brushed some wet strands out of my brow, soft fingertips caressing my suddenly feverishly hot skin, tugging the raven waves behind my ear, before he tilted his head in question. But I avoided his gaze for fear he would see right through me und discover the insecurity I was so desperately trying to hide.

“Talk to me,” he urged, and my stomach tightened even more at the anxiety lacing his tone.

Pressing my lips together, I turned away. He tensed in response.

“Did I do something wrong?” His hand hovered just above my head, I could tell, even though I couldn't see, suddenly afraid to touch, and his voice edged with fear.

I pondered on my answer for a moment, unsure how to explain myself.

“No,” I finally said. “I mean, of course not. It’s not you,” I hurriedly added in an attempt to reassure him.

“What is it then?” he pressed on.

My shoulders slumped and I buried my face in the crook of my elbow, my arm resting on my drawn up knees.

“Everything’s so perfect. I’m here with you, at this beautiful place. We have delicious food and we are finally able to spend the whole day together without anyone disturbing us,” I began explaining, “I just… I’m…scared of spoiling this perfect moment by doing something wrong or… I don't know. Doing something that would disappoint you.”

Sabo did not answer right away, but remained silent for a couple of moments, deep in thought. My heart was already heavy with regret and I reprimanded myself for my inability to hide my emotions. But then it was Sabo I was trying to hide from. The one person, who was able to see right through me. I already knew I was an open book for my mother, but for Sabo, I did not even have a cover, just pages filled with words in a language he spoke as fluently as his mother tongue.

“Is this about what I said yesterday?” he wondered aloud. This time it was me who remained silent. He seemed to take it as a sign of affirmation.

A deep sigh escaped him, before he started to gently card his slender fingers through my waves again, massaging my scalp, easing some of the tension with his soothing strokes.

“I never meant to scare you or make you feel uncomfortable by saying that, you know.”

“You didn’t scare me,” I clarified, sounding maybe a tiny bit offended, but finally looking at him again, and Sabo chuckled softly, the sound chasing away more of my worries.

“Of course not,” he whispered as he leaned down, brushing the tip of his nose against my ear, burying it in my hair, his breath warm on my skin.

I squirmed a bit, glaring at the ground, my mouth forming a rather uncharacteristic pout, but I allowed him to continue with the caresses.

“Ace,” he said after a while, and I loved how my name sounded coming from his lips. Like it was a secret spell or a treasure, and something he cherished. He took the half eaten sandwich from my hand and put it aside, before he cupped my face with his hands. “I only said that to let you know how much I want to be with you. I’m ready, if you are. But if you’re not, or if you don't want to be with me in that way that's fine, too. And I also want you to know that I would wait a thousand years for you to be ready to do this. But what I don't want is for you to feel forced to do anything just so I'm happy, or because we have no idea, whenever we'll get the chance again.”

I blinked, focusing my gaze on the ground behind Sabo's shoulder in an attempt to avoid those sparkling sapphire eyes overflowing with love and sympathy. The warm glow filling my belly already made me feel stupid for panicking and that my awkward behaviour had forced Sabo to say aloud, what I already knew. There had never been a reason for me to worry.

“Thanks for telling me,” I mumbled and looked up, when an amused snort reached my ears.

“Stupid,” he whispered with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, before quickly kissing me to seal my lips already parting in protest.

Our kiss tasted of the river's cool waters, the ham sandwiches we had just been eating and the juice we had been drinking and all of those flavours mixed perfectly with Sabo's own, a taste on my tongue that would never fade, forever reminding me of that perfect summer day. Humming contently, my arms snuck around his shoulders, pulling him closer, the last traces of my insecurities evaporating into endless azure of the sky stretching above us—at least for the moment.

The rest of our sumptuous meal was filled with more laughter and stolen kisses. Some were quick, not more than a peck on the cheek, some more passionate, usually followed by meaningful glances and smiles. By the time we had finished, our clothes were dry again and Sabo rummaged around in the basket, pulling out a book he had brought along, plopping down onto the blanket with a satisfied sigh, shielding his eyes against the glaring light of the sun to look up at me.

“I could read to you,” he suggested, patting the spot beside him on the blanket. I complied eagerly, stretched my legs and rested my head on his upper arm, snuggling up to him, one hand on his chest.

The bump of his steadily beating heart against my palm reverberated through my fingers, a constant, soothing rhythm accompanied by the ever present chirping of the cicadas and the lazy gurgling of the river. My gaze lost its focus, eyes staring at nothing in particular, as soon as Sabo had read the first few lines of ’Moby Dick’ to me and I slowly slipped into a relaxed trance, while Sabo's fingers absentmindedly carded through my hair. The light caress and Sabo’s even, mellifluous voice eventually lulling me into a dreamless slumber.

I woke to the low rumble of thunder in the distance. The sultry air was even more oppressive than before and a cool breeze, sweeping across the fields, sent a shiver up my spine, heralding the long-due thunder storm brewing on the horizon with some dark clouds already looming perilously close. Turning, I saw that Sabo had fallen asleep as well, book lying upside down beside him on the blanket. I leaned down to softly kiss his temple, his nose crinkling in displeasure at the offending touch rousing him from his peaceful sleep.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” I whispered close to his ear, nuzzling his hairline in apology, “but I think we have to leave and look for shelter. There’s a storm coming.”

Bleary sea blue eyes blinked up at me followed by a yawn and a stretch, before he watched as lightning flashed between the massive clouds, a curtain of heavy rain already pouring down only a few kilometres away and the wind’s speed picking up gradually. A moment later he was on his feet, closing his book with a clap and throwing it into the basket. We hastily rolled up the blanket, putting on socks and shoes, and yanked our bicycles into a standing position. I helped Sabo fasten the basket and the blanket on his carrier, before nervously glancing over my shoulder. The time it had taken us to pack up our things had given the threatening clouds a chance to crawl closer.

“There’s a barn about one or two kilometres away from here with a few larger trees in the area. We should be safe there,” he said, already swinging one leg over the frame.

“If we make it there, before the storm’s caught up to us, that is,” I added, biting my lip. “Let’s go!”

And with that we pushed off the ground and started pedalling as fast as we could, racing against the storm, the fresh smell of nitrogen oxide already heavy in the ionised air. But the roll of thunder grew louder and louder with fewer and fewer seconds remaining after every flash. It helped to urge us on. My lungs ached, when I finally spotted the barn’s silhouette, relieved to see the many taller trees dotting the field it was standing on, ignoring my throbbing legs and the burning in my chest. A flimsy fence surrounded the premises and we quickly threw our bicycles to the ground. With basket and blanket tugged beneath our arms, we climbed over the decaying bars and ran across the field.

However, the storm had not remained in place and the moment our feet touched the ground on the other side of the fence, large raindrops started to mercilessly beat down on us and before long water streamed over our heated cheeks. By the time we had finally reached the barn’s door we were soaked to the bone once more.

With a clang we closed the heavy gate behind us, locking out the raging storm, but the wind continued to whistle through the numerous gaps between the beams and slats our shelter was made of. Sabo put down the basket and shook himself like a wet dog, spraying water everywhere. When he looked up to see that I was watching him, he suddenly started laughing without any particular reason, and soon enough I joined him, the sound contagious.

It took a while for us to calm down again, but once the last laugh had faded, I retrieved to surprisingly dry blanket from atop the basket, spreading it out on the barn’s dusty ground, before looking around, inspecting our surroundings. I found nothing of interest and simply shrugged, a bit disappointed. Outside a new round of thunder rumbled through the sky above us, our surroundings rattling with the powerful sound.

Sabo sneezed and when I turned around I saw him furiously rubbing his arms. Smiling, I walked over to where he stood and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close, though I wasn’t sure if I was actually doing any good. Wiping away the glistening traces the rain had left on his cheeks with my thumb I leaned in to kiss him, gently nudging the tip of his nose with my own.

“Are you cold?” I asked, starting to rub his back. He grimaced at the wet sound his shirt was making, pressing his cold nose into the crook of my neck in search for a warmer place, when a shiver ran through his body. I pulled him even closer, allowing for my body's warmth to gradually permeate Sabo’s.

Silence followed as we both waited for him to warm up while listening to the sounds of the storm until, all of a sudden, I felt the featherlight touch of Sabo’s lips against my neck, hot breath fanning out over cool, moist skin.

“There are other ways to keep us warm…” he whispered huskily, suggestively even.

I tensed, pulling away to stare at him in surprise and saw that the blue of his eyes was tinged with a hint of unease.

“I mean, only, if you want. A-And we don't have to go all the way, of course,” he added quickly, clearly afraid of demanding more of me than I was willing to give at the moment, our earlier conversation probably still fresh on his mind.

I blinked, lost for words and continued to stare at the angelic face before me, taking in his full lips and the long blond lashes framing his eyes with tiny watery pearls glistening at their ends like a sparkling garland. And his eyes, yes. Those sparkling bottomless pools in the colours of the endless sea, dotted with specks of various shades of green around the iris. My mouth went dry.

A painting of Sabo in that very moment, forever freezing his beauty for me to behold. But there would never be a painter skilled nor colours vibrant enough to paint in the same shades life just had. The glow in his mesmerising eyes, the red of his lips, the shine of rain on his fair face—they were already forever lost in the moment.

And it was as if realising that life rarely offered second chances lifted a weight of my shoulders, all doubts and fears suddenly cleared from my worrying mind. The answer to my countless questions had been there all along in the loving gaze of Sabo's eyes. Pressing our foreheads together, I sighed in relief.

“I want to go all the way, if it’s with you,” I breathed against his lips before capturing them with my own, prying them apart with my daring tongue to claim what was mine.

Sabo offered himself without a second thought, hands clinging to the collar of my soaked shirt to pull me closer and deepen the kiss.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked once we had broken apart again, his breaths already coming faster.

“I am.”

Sabo’s arms wound around my neck, suddenly desperate to increase the contact between our bodies, letting his tongue slide against mine, and when I pulled back both our faces were already lightly flushed, and our eyes glazed over with the first signs of lust. He let his hands wander over my shoulders to my front and started to undo the buttons of my shirt, but his always so nimble fingers failed him, betraying his own nervousness. Huffing annoyedly he pulled down my braces, and pulled the shirt out of my pants and over my head. It all happened so quickly I hardly had the time to feel embarrassed, and when my brain had finally registered what just had happened, he had already gotten rid of his own shirt in much the same way, dropping our clothes on the blanket.

I bit my lip, granting myself some time to look closely before I reached out and let my fingertips touch his fair flesh. Wherever they travelled a trail of goosebumps followed and sometimes even a tremor. Sabo's chest was firm with a few fine lines hinting at the muscles lying beneath his skin, but that was mostly due to his slender build. Since we did not belong to the working class, our only exercise was horse riding and playing our instruments, or maybe cycling somewhere, like today.

When his fingers touched my own chest I gasped and a smile appeared on his face as he continued to explore the body he was longing for, tracing the soft hills of my muscles, slightly more prominent than his. He let his pointer caress my nipple and another gasp escaped my mouth at the jolt running through me. We had touched each other before, but it had never been like this, never this intense. Another kiss followed before he took my hand, pulling me after him until we were both lying on the blanket.

My hands wandered and so did his, smoothing over curves, following lines to so far unknown places. I squeezed his ass through the fabric of his pants and he rubbed his thigh against my groin, both our breaths hitching in our throats.

This went on for a while until I had mustered enough courage to try myself on the button of his pants, unfastening it with trembling fingers. Kissing his neck, inhaling his scent mixed with the smell of rain, my hand snuck below his waistband, inside his underwear. His breathing in my ear became louder, when my fingers carded through course hair and I clenched my jaw, when his nails, which, luckily, he was required to keep trimmed, scraped over my bare back. Slowly, I started to peel him out of the clinging, wet fabric of his pants and he lifted his hips to help, but as soon as I had removed them completely and he was lying before me in all his naked glory, he covered his face with his arms.

“Sabo,” I whispered, trying to pry his arms away.

“Don't stare,” he demanded, but he removed his arms nonetheless, cheeks dusted pink.

My fervent kiss surprised him, but he did not complain, instead he wrapped his legs around my waist and pulled me close, pressing our groins together and sucking at my lower lip. I moaned and instantly pulled away, pressing my lips together, when I realised what kind of sound I had just made. But since Sabo's legs were still around my hips, I could feel his body’s response and I barely managed to suppress another lewd sound from escaping my mouth. A moment later Sabo had unbuttoned my pants and I helped him take them off.

However, the moment I felt his eyes on my growing erection as I sat before him with half crossed legs I understood why he had hidden his face, since it took all my willpower not to hide my most private parts with my hands. He seemed to have noticed, because he quickly came closer, sliding forward on his knees, distracting me by lifting up my chin with one hand and placing a passionate kiss on my lips. The familiarity of our kiss calmed me and when his other hand slowly travelled over my chest and my abdomen along a set path, I was suddenly very eager to feel it _there_.

Still, nothing could have prepared me for the actual sensation flooding my body, when Sabo's fingers finally curled around my hardening shaft. A second, more powerful jolt shook my body, followed by another, louder, moan, and when he started moving his hand up and down I thrust my hips forward, into his touch. There was nothing left of our earlier timidness, no trace of reluctance in the way we explored. We wanted this. Both of us. Yearning for a unity we had not yet had the luck of experiencing. And maybe it was the knowledge that there would not be another chance to do this anytime soon, which heightened the susceptibility of our skin and intensified the experience.

But it was not only the physical connection we suddenly shared that contributed to the euphoria we felt. It was also the love lying in every touch, in every shared kiss, clearly visible in our eyes, whenever we took a break from kissing to look at each other. We savoured the moment almost as if it was our last, mapping a foreign body until we knew every curve of muscle, every vein shimmering through beneath skin, every rise of bone, returning to it again and again until the feeling was imprinted in our memory, carefully noting every sound, every shiver caused by our caress, be it with lips or hands or teeth. We worshipped and offered and let go. Falling and falling, losing all sense of time and place.

I pleasured Sabo, too, doing as he did to me, though with slightly clumsier strokes, and loudly sucked air into my lungs, whenever another spike of pleasure travelled up my spine again. The heat in my groin grew, became almost unbearable, and that was, when I had to pull his hand away. He understood without a word of explanation, and even if he had not, my laboured breathing was a telltale sign.

Rising to his feet he said, “I’ll…get it,” before staggering over to the basket, my eyes following him curiously.

He rummaged around for a while with his back on me, returning after what seemed like a small eternity. When he sat beside me again, he thrust at me whatever he had brought over and, after turning it, I realised it was a jar of oil.

The moment its purpose had sunk in, though, my heart started beating twice as fast, the sound of my rushing pulse almost deafeningly loud in my ears and I immediately returned to my earlier nervous stage.

“I…” I began only to realise I was apparently lost for words. My head spun and my thoughts raced.

I had watched those men in the brothel. I knew what would happened. I had known for a year. Then why was I so nervous? Swallowing, I reached for the lid of the jar and unscrewed it. Whatever scent the oil had, it instantly filled the air around us, but it did nothing to soothe my buzzing nerves.

Panic rose inside me once again, its icy hand crushing my chest as I mechanically dapped my fingers into the jar, coating them with oil. Sabo's firm grip stopped me and my eyes darted to his concerned face.

“Ace,” he said and I was glad he had interrupted me. “What are you scared of?”

I looked back at my trembling fingers safe inside Sabo's tight grip, contemplating whether or not I should tell him what was bothering me.

“What if I disappoint you?” I muttered under my breath. “What if I’m not good enough for you?”

He blinked, eyes narrowing, darkening. Almost angry he took the jar away from me, putting it on the ground beside us, before taking a deep, calming breath.

“Just to make sure. You’re scared that you’re not good enough for me?” he asked. I sucked in my lips in response. “You? Not good enough for me?” He was clearly agitated. I nodded. “How can you even think that?” Letting go of my hands, he cupped my cheeks. All anger had vanished from his voice, leaving nothing but sadness. “I love you, don't you know?”

My eyes widened.

Of course I knew, but then we had never actually said the words, always assuming our actions would suffice to convey our feelings. Apparently that had not been the case, because now that I had heard it out of Sabo’s mouth it had become even more real. I shook my head in deep disbelief over my own doubts and insecurities.

“Of course I know. And I love you, too. But I guess it’s because I love you so much that I want everything to be perfect and I’m not sure I can give you that…”

“Ace.”

Ah, yes, my name on his lips again.

“I am perfectly aware that neither you nor I have any sort of experience, but that’s what makes this so special to me. There’s nothing I expect. All I want is to be with you and feel you. We’ve always talked up until now, so I’m sure, if we do this and tell the other what we want, it’s going to be just perfect.”

I stared, once again impressed by how grown up he was and how easy it was for him to dispel my fears, and while I calmed myself by looking at his beautiful face I wondered who I was to deny this man his wishes? He was everything to me, and I wanted to be with him just as much as he wanted to be with me. I, too, wanted to feel him.

“I want to feel you, too,” I repeated my thoughts aloud, because hearing them added to my determination.

“Good,” he said, and kissed me, briefly but deeply. “But I want to feel you…inside me” he whispered against my lips, when he had pulled away again, a flush colouring his cheeks, but determination was clear in his eyes.

“But what if I hurt you?” I protested.

“You won’t.”

“But-”

“You won't. You’d never hurt me.”

And after a soft peck on my cheeks he put the jar back into my hand, before lying down on his back.

“Please,” he begged.

I glanced from the jar in my hand back to a naked Sabo spread out before me and back at the jar again.

“Promise me, you’ll tell me, if I hurt you!” I insisted.

A warm, happy smile spread across his face.

“I promise.”

Again I shook my head, this time in disbelief over how easily I had been convinced. Then I made sure my fingers were slick with oil.

My mouth had gone dry, and I was nervous and excited at the same time, when I pushed in my first finger. He tensed due to the unfamiliar intrusion, but relaxed again just as quickly. I kept my eyes trained on his face to not miss the slightest change in his expression, ready to pause or stop completely the moment I hurt him. But even, when I started moving my finger, he looked relaxed, and I became more daring again, reaching for his hardening erection. It twitched, when I touched it, and Sabo's lips parted, and I eagerly leaned down to steal a kiss, gently starting to stroke his shaft. He wrapped his arms around my neck to keep me close.

“Go on,” he said after a while and I added a second finger.

His grip in my hair tightened instantly and I paused.

“Don't worry, Ace,” he breathed, but I waited until his fingers had loosened somewhat, before I continued.

But just like he had said, he told me what he liked, what felt good and what did not. I listened eagerly, doing what he wanted me to do, my own arousal growing only by hearing his voice, the words he said, but also, because I knew what I was doing to him. The longer I prepared him the bolder I became until I eventually crooked my fingers.

Sabo cried out, but the sound was anything but painful. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my cock started throbbing. I repeated what I had just done and he shivered violently, fingers digging into my shoulder.

“Ace,” he whined and hearing my name said so huskily, so wanton, was almost enough to send me over the tip even more so, since I now felt the blood pulsing through Sabo's hard shaft.

“I think that’s enough,” he said and I silently agreed, sweat already gathering on my forehead.

Sabo turned a bit, reaching for the oil and warming some of it between his palms, before he suddenly reached for my cock. I gasped, when his hand curled around it.

“Careful or it's all gonna be over soon,” I pressed out, holding onto my last bit of self-control, the tips of my ears burning with embarrassment. He sniggered and just like that all tension evaporated into thin air.

There truly was nothing to be afraid of. It was just me and Sabo, alone in a barn with a storm raging on outside, about to share an entirely new experience.

I pushed the jar with oil further aside to not spill its contents, before properly settling between Sabo's legs again. He lifted his hips and I aligned our bodies, claiming his mouth for another kiss, and then I gently pushed in. I took my time, allowing him to adjust, while revelling in bliss. There were so many new sensations flooding my brain I was hardly able to process them all. Sabo was tight and hot and perfect, his sea blue eyes obscured by lust and his body gleaming with sweat. His lips were swollen, and his chest rose and fell with every panting breath he took. I let one of my fingers trail along his cock, relishing in the feeling of his muscles contracting around me.

After a while I dared to move and that was, when he bit his lip so hard it started bleeding, his whole body suddenly going rigid. I flinched and stilled.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, worried.

“Just a little,” he lied, unable to open his eyes, crumbling the blanket between the vice-like grip of his slender fingers.

“We don't have to do this,” I said. “Or we can switch!”

“Don't be stupid,” he returned, but what was supposed to sound teasing was overshadowed by held back pain.

“Sabo, I mean it!”

“I just have to get used to it, is all,” he pressed out. I bit my lip. “Go on,” he urged.

Ever so slowly I started moving again and he grimaced, but then I felt him relax a bit, much to my relief. I reached for his cock, brushing over the tip with my thumb and it had the desired effect, he loosened some more and even let go of the blanket.

“It’s...better now,” he said, and, “Kiss me, please.” And I did. Not before long my thrusts became faster as I slowly became accustomed to the language of Sabo's body.

I broke the kiss and straightened my back, adjusting his hips, when he suddenly cried out again just like he had earlier, and I knew I had found that spot again.

From that point forward everything became blurred, a whirl of colour and sensation. The barn was filled with our panting and moaning, and when we reached our climax, it was like a blistering tidal wave crashing down on us, every nerve end on our body singed, heads spinning as we entered a state of utter bliss.

Afterwards, the barn was filled with whispers and soft laughter. We stole kisses and huddled closer together. I caressed his face as he toyed with my hair, and I once again whispered that I loved him. In turn I was gifted with his radiant smile.

The world could not have been more perfect that day, or ever again. This was the man I loved. This was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. This was the man I wanted to look at with the same affection that brightened my parents' eyes, whenever they looked at each other.

And I could tell Sabo wanted exactly the same.


	2. Chapter 2

My body protested when Sabo reminded me that the storm outside had quieted down and that it was starting to grow dark, a sign that we should hurry home in case our parents were worrying. I grumbled, hugging him more tightly to keep him where he was, and he chuckled, gently easing my grip until he was able to entangle our fingers, kissing my knuckles.

“I don’t want to go either, but the summer’s still long. I’m sure we’ll be able to come back here another time,” he whispered, trying to convince me with a reassuring look out of his sparkling sea blue eyes and I sighed, admitting defeat, stealing a quick kiss from his lips before getting up.

We had already gotten dressed earlier on so the rest of our stuff was quickly packed up again and I opened the barn's gate, peeking outside. There were already patches of purple sky visible between ragged bits of darker clouds with the occasional star twinkling down from up high. We left the barn and stalked over the field to where we had left our bicycles, each footstep creating a squishing sound in the mud.

The way back home took longer, since Sabo had winced when he had tried to sit on his bicycle, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, and therefore, we had walked. We had been almost wistful with the knowledge of our pending farewell, at least for the night, weighing down our spirits, dulling the bliss still glowing in every fibre of our exhausted bodies. We held hands the whole way, except when we finally entered the city again.

Sabo accompanied me all the way to my house, since his was still a little further, and even followed me all the way back to the shed, where my bike was stored. I had already told the butler that I would take care of it myself, hoping that Sabo would, indeed, come with me. I leaned the bike against the wooden planks and turned around only to find his lips were already on mine, his tongue leaving a hot trail.

We stumbled backwards into the shadows, so as not to be spotted, and my hands moved down to squeeze his ass and press his hips against mine in the process. He smiled, pulling away for a second to brush the tip of his nose against mine, followed by a brief, almost shy glance before giving me a farewell peck. He smiled contently, when he pushed me back, his palm lingering on my chest for a second, right above my heart.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered.

“Good night,” I replied, and with that he turned and walked away.

By the time I had my breathing under control again and had stepped outside, he was already gone.

The relief on my mother’s face, when I entered the house and announced my return, caused a jab of guilt, but I simply wasn’t able to hold back the wide grin as I picked her up and spun around, hugging her and laughing as she squealed in surprise, her freckled cheeks dusted pink when I put her back on her feet. I quickly explained that we had been taken by surprise by the storm and had to take shelter in a nearby barn, where we had to wait for the storm to pass.

Briefly, I considered telling her about my relationship with Sabo, but decided against it, postponing it to another day in the near future. Also, because I did not want to tell anybody without Sabo’s consent. It was a decision we should make together, since it would probably greatly affect both our futures.

I had probably never slept more peacefully than I did that night, my thoughts with Sabo, reliving our moment of intimacy in my dreams. The enraptured look on his face, the flush colouring his cheeks, the curves of his gorgeous naked body and the muscles rippling beneath my clumsy hands. The highly arousing sounds he was making, whenever I would touch a tender spot, and the feeling of utter closeness we had shared. And since I had already been ensnared in daydreams during supper with my parents that evening, I neither noticed the knowing glances of my mother nor the thoughtful, brooding look on my father’s face.

The next morning I woke unusually early without feeling tired or moody, and the thought of yesterday’s happening still brought a smile to my face. I got dressed and left my room only to run into my mother on the hall. She informed me that my father was waiting for me downstairs, which had me furrow my brow. Although it was early, my father usually would have already left for the publishing house.

But when I entered the dining room, he was still sitting at the breakfast table, the butler just filling up his cup with tea and he briefly glanced up from today’s newspaper, nodding in greeting, when I walked around the table to my chair. I started devouring whatever was in sight right away, not bothering with table manners, since my mother had not yet made her way downstairs, knowing my father wasn’t one to care, likely to not stick to etiquettes either, if mother wasn’t around.

Until my father cleared his throat, the butler and I were the only ones talking, but we both went silent upon hearing the noise. Not because I particularly cared, but because the butler still held too much respect for the man paying his wages as to simply ignore him in favour of some chitchat with his son. My father was by no means feared by our household staff, but they all treated him with a lot of deference, except for those occasional ventures of his down to the kitchens to share a bottle of beer or a glass of wine with the butlers and even some of the maids. He was usually forgiving and kind to almost everyone, except those who treated others—and especially his family—wrongly and with disrespect, displaying unexpected ruthlessness at times, and it was obvious to whom I owed my short temper.

“Since you’re not busy practising this week, I’d like you to accompany me to the agency today. I need to clean out my office and I want you to help me.”

This wasn’t so much a question as it was a request, one I knew I could turn down, if I had really wanted to, but since my father rarely ever asked for any favours from my side, I agreed. Albeit a bit reluctant, since I was already longing to hold Sabo in my arms again and taste the sweetness of his lips.

“You don’t look too happy about this,” he remarked. “Do you have other plans for today?”

I pressed my lips together, not looking at him.

“I wanted to meet with Sabo later,” I admitted.

“Weren’t you with him all day yesterday?” he asked, lifting a brow.

“I was. That’s why I've already decided to come with you today. I’ll just ask Mother to tell him, where I am, in case he comes by.”

My father nodded, telling me we would be leaving in fifteen minutes and to be ready by then, before resuming to read the paper. I gobbled up the rest of my breakfast, before hurrying upstairs to gather a few things and brush my teeth. My mother was waiting at the door to see us off and I asked her to inform Sabo of where I was should he, indeed, drop by, while I kissed her good bye on the cheek.

The publishing house was in the same district as my music school, so I was familiar with the suburb, the agency itself, however, was a different matter. It had been a while, since I had last set foot inside the tall building with the large printing presses situated in a factory adjacent to where the offices where located. Luckily, the old building had already been refurbished with a lift, thus making it easier to reach the higher stories, where the newspaper’s offices were as well as my father’s.

He was greeted by his staff and handed a few papers, some people throwing me a curious glance, and my father briefly introduced me, but there were also a few people who still recognised me, either because of my music, or because they had already been working here, when I had tagged along, when I had still been younger.

There had been a time, when my father had tried to spark in me the interest for bulletins and other printed media, only to drop his attempts upon seeing the ardour I held for the piano and classical music. He had never shown any signs of disappointment, probably because of the look on my mother’s face, whenever she would listen to my play and the fact that he loved to listen as well, sauntering into the room, when I was practicing under the pretence of wanting to read the paper in his favourite chair only to put it aside moments later, enjoying whatever melody it was I was coaxing out of my instrument.

There were even more piles of papers and books and shelves, stuffed with much the same, lining the walls, handwritten or typed letters strewn all about the massive wooden desk set before a few windows offering a nice view of town. A typewriter rested on a side table pushed against a wall, probably used by my father's secretary most of the time. I was quickly led to another door leading to something like a storeroom, where boxes full of correspondence, articles and files were neatly organised in more shelves, dates or other tags on their fronts for easier locating.

It took my father almost an hour to give me instructions on what my job was, before he pulled out two stools and we would get down to sort through the files, which would later be destroyed. We both worked quietly, and I only payed as much attention as was necessary in order to not throw away the wrong file, using the numbers on the top right corner for guidance just like I had been instructed to do, while the other half of my brain was yearning for Sabo, wondering if he had already stopped by my house only to be disappointed. I decided to walk over to his house should we be done earlier than expected, half-heartedly glancing at a report my father had received three months ago, before deciding it was to be shredded.

By noon we went back to his office, where two cups of tea and some sandwiches were waiting for us, both eagerly digging in, the monotonous work making me feel famished. I asked him about a few of his employees I still remembered from my childhood, feeling sorry, when I heard of the death of two I had met back then, but also laughing, when he told me a few anecdotes he had not yet told at home. Afterwards, we went back to sorting through the papers and by the time it was late afternoon my back ached and I stretched, a few joints popping. I got up and wandered through the room for a bit, the last file I had wanted to look at still in my hands.

For the first time, since we had started with our work, I forwent the number and instead took a closer look, actually reading what the neatly typed words were saying. However, I stopped my wandering after only a couple of steps, too captured by what I was reading, eyes widening the longer they were flicking from one line to the next. By the time I had reached the end of the page I was frozen in horror.

“So you’ve realised?” I heard my father’s voice from behind me. “I was wondering, when you’d actually notice.”

I turned around, holding out the paper in a manner close to accusation.

“What are all these?” I wanted to know, motioning for the many shelves filled with more boxes of what was probably highly sensitive information.

“This is what you call intel,” he said matter-of-factly, entirely ignoring my horrified look.

“How did you get this?”

“Don’t expect me to tell you about my sources. You’re better off not knowing.”

“But this says that there’s going to be war!” I exclaimed, giving my father cause to get up from his stool and close the door.

“Since you were busy traveling the country I guess it can be ignored that you weren’t paying much attention to the latest happenings, but even so you should’ve heard about the rumours of an approaching war. It was even mentioned at during dinner.” Now there was a hint of accusation in his voice.

“Of course I have! But everyone always said it's only the sabre-rattling of power-greedy politicians and kings. That they are only trying to intimidate each other, but that no one actually wants a war. But this proves that it’s only a matter of time until someone’s actually going to declare it!”

“I know,” he said blandly, sitting down again.

He rummaged around in a smaller box beside the one he was currently occupied with, before pulling out a wrinkled pack of cigarettes along with a lighter, taking one out, before offering me the pack. I blinked, undecided, before walking over to where he was, sitting down on my own stool again and putting down the piece of paper already showing signs of my fingerprints with how sweaty my hand had become and then reached for one of the tobacco sticks with trembling fingers.

My father threw the pack back into the box, the lighter coming to life with a spluttering noise seconds later, followed by the first whirls of smoke rising from the glowing tip. He handed me the lighter and although it took me a few tries to get it to work, I eventually managed to light my cigarette as well, coughing after the first drag, lungs burning from the biting smoke sucked into them.

Like probably most young men my age I had tried smoking before and just like almost all my other experiences, I had made this one together with Sabo. It had been just after he had turned thirteen that I had dared stealing a single cigarette from my father’s secret stash hidden in his study, since he was forbidden from smoking in the house, but there were times, when he craved for some nicotine to calm his nerves, especially when a day had been exceptionally busy and nerve-wrecking, and even though my mother would refuse to kiss him good night, when he would later show up in their bedroom, she would still snuggle up to him, knowing reprimand was the last thing he needed right now.

So I had stolen one, and Sabo and I had ventured deep into the Grey Terminal to make sure we remained unseen, lighting up the dried tobacco with a couple of matches he had acquired. I had been the one to take the first drag, inhaling deeply only to end up coughing violently. Sabo had laughed heartily, before telling me he would show me how it was supposed to be done. Seconds later found him bend over, coughing and gagging at the taste. That had been smoking for us. We had snubbed out the cigarette and had left it in the dirt of the Grey Terminal, both silently agreeing to never try again.

The fear, which had paralysed my body upon reading those lines, however, had also made me forget that vow to myself, hoping that just like it was the case with my father, the nicotine would soothe my nerves. I took a second drag, this one working out a bit better than the one before, blowing the smoke back out and only coughing slightly. And upon the third try, my lungs were not feeling irritated at all.

“You have to publish this. The people deserve to know what the king and his generals are leading us into!”

My father suddenly looked years older than he actually was, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and pointer as he sat on his stool with hunched shoulders. I had never seen him so beaten, so desperate.

“Do you know what will happen to me and my employees, no, this whole agency, if I publish this kind of information?” he asked, his intense grey eyes trained on me.

I bit my lip, shaking my head, the cigarette between my fingers forgotten for a moment as I mulled over the possibilities in my head.

“Publishing something like this is considered high treason. Do you know the punishment for treason?”

My heartbeat quickened instantly as the meaning of my father’s words sank in.

“The death penalty,” I muttered, quickly taking another drag of my cigarette, staring at nothing in particular.

“The death penalty. Exactly. And think about what this would mean for you. For your mother.”

I pressed my lips together, doing my best not to think about it, the whole conversation leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth, even without the taste of cigarette smoke.

“And to be honest, after what I know so far, this war is inevitable. Even if I tell the people and let the other nations know, those in power, here and elsewhere, are eager for this war. They don’t care what it means for the people who have to actually fight it. The many young men, who’re going to give their lives in meaningless battles, rich, old men have decided on simply to prove their power and to boost their inflated egos. I hate to admit it, but there’s nothing I can do, because if I publish what I know now, they’ll simply declare war the next day.”

Nausea had claimed my stomach, twisting my guts in uncomfortable, sickening ways. I had believed the people who had claimed the threats, made by those in power, were nothing to worry about, that in a couple of weeks everything would be forgotten, but to be honest, those threats had been going back and forth for a while now, months even. I had been a fool not to notice sooner. I had talked about this with my parents during some of our joined suppers, but I had never been aware of the severity of the situation. Even Sabo and I had talked about this and he had been much more worried than I had been, having to listen to his father’s talks on our short breaks, while on tour and the brief visits to our homes, but then his father was also someone to talk big most of the time, which had helped to dispel his worries.

I looked up, when a particularly fearsome thought struck my mind, desperation evident in my eyes as I was hoping for my father’s guidance, his assurance that everything was going to be alright.

“Will I be drafted?” I asked with a shaking voice.

He wet his lips with a flick of his tongue, taking another drag to effectively prolong the moment before he had to give an answer.

“I don’t think your mother will let them take you,” he said, the hint of a smile visible beneath his moustache.

“But there’s nothing she can do,” I whispered, almost choking on my own words.

“And I won’t let them take you either. I’d rather rot beneath the ground, before knowing you’ll be forced to fight in this damned war and I have not done everything in my power to prevent it.”

There was a moment of relief as I felt a child’s deep trust in its father’s words, but it was short lived, because a second later the image of a radiant smile crossed my mind and this time, the fear I felt was even worse.

“What about Sabo, though. His father will make him join the troops, but I know he doesn’t want to fight.”

My upper body was swaying back and forth in agitation and distress as I rubbed my sweaty palm over the fabric of my pants, unable to sit still. And the thought of Sabo being drafted, the two of us being separated, me not fighting, while he had to endure that cruel fate, was even more terrifying than the prospect of finding an early death on the battlefield. This time, however, my father said nothing for a while and when I looked up, he was stubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray he had taken out from somewhere, giving it a light push so it would slide across the floor to where I was sitting, holding a burned up cigarette between my fingers without even noticing.

When he looked at me again, I knew I had been caught. The secret that was Sabo and me had been revealed.

“Say, Ace. Who is that boy to you?” he probed, not letting me out of his sight.

“My…musical partner and best friend?” I tried, cheeks burning, yet the rest of my body felt as if I had fallen into a pool of ice.

“I see,” he said, leaning back a little, obviously satisfied with my answer and I relaxed. “Really, the youth of today is truly a mystery to me. Best friends kissing like that now. It’s an interesting time we’re living in, indeed.”

I gaped at him in horror, mouth hanging open as I tried to come up with an excuse and failing spectacularly. He had seen us. There was no use denying it, since there was no other explanation, my father’s musings about my generation’s strange behaviour only a way of letting me know that he knew, that I would not be able to talk my way out of this.

“I-” I began, but he cut me off.

“Is he your lover?” he asked, his voice gruff and stern.

The ‘No’ was already on my lips, when that sweet moment after we had made love crossed my mind again, along with the revelation I had had. We were no longer innocent boys, we were grownups, adults, who had to take responsibility for their actions and stand up for who they were as well as their beliefs. If I cowered before the fear of being rejected and hated by my parents now, would I ever be able to go back on those words and admit who I really loved? And, if I really loved and cherished Sabo as much as I thought and said I did, did I not owe it to him to stand by him now and not deny him in front of one of the two people who were supposed to love me unconditionally?

I knew I had decided to talk to him first about telling our parents, but now that my father had asked me so bluntly, there was either the opportunity of lying about it or telling the truth, and maybe it was my stubbornness that made me act, or I was really as determined as I felt. I clenched my hands into fists, bracing myself for what I was about to say, taking a deep breath, while sternly returning my father’s gaze.

“Yes,” I said, and there was no trace of uncertainty or fear in my voice, my tone steady and even. “And no matter what you say, there’s no chance I will change my mind nor will you be able to tear us apart.”

It was my father’s turn to gape at me, before he suddenly burst into laughter. I furrowed my brow, not sure how to interpret the situation or his behaviour, pressing my lips together with how tense I felt. When he had recovered a bit, he let out a long drawn sigh, reaching for the pack of cigarettes again, but then decided against smoking another one, shaking his head instead.

“Already so defensive right from the beginning, but I guess that’s what society has made you into, scared of being hated by your own parents for the person you love.”

He brought up a hand to twirl one end of his moustache between his fingers, seemingly deep in thought.

“Does he know that you’re ready to defy your parents for him?” my father asked.

“He does,” I answered instantly.

“And does he feel the same about you?” he inquired further.

“He does.” I wasn’t willing to let myself hesitate under my father’s scrutiny.

“But I assume the two of you haven’t told his parents yet?”

This question took me aback.

“It’s only since yesterday that I actually really started thinking about this kind of…conversation,” I admitted, wondering why it had taken so long for me to realise.

Maybe the constant traveling had made it all seem so surreal, as if we were not actually part of the real world, entitled as we were, and now that we had spent a few days back home, for once having something close to a normal life, it had occurred to me that at some point, we might need to tell our parents in order to be able to justify our constant need to spend time together or our rejection of marriage proposals, whichever would have come first. Though I knew Sabo’s parents would have been more oppressive with regards to the second matter than my own.

My father scoffed.

“I told your mother taking shelter in that barn wasn’t the only thing the two of you were doing, but she only hit me atop the head with yesterday’s paper and asked me if I’d left my manners at the office.” He was almost pouting as he remembered the incident, while my whole face burned to the tip of my ears.

“She-she knows?”

My father lifted both brows at my question.

“Of course your mother knows! She probably knew before you were even aware of your feelings yourself. But don’t ask me how, she just has a way of simply knowing these things. When I told her that I thought you’d fallen head over heels for that Outlook boy, she only laughed and said: Darling, sometimes you’re just as dense as Ace. You’re definitely father and son.” The way he imitated my mother’s loving, playful reprimand lightened the mood considerably and for the first time I allowed myself to laugh over the awkwardness of the whole situation.

“But you know, son. Now that you’ve told me, I should probably tell you a secret of my own.”

I instantly perked up at this.

“Before I met your mother, I was in love with a man as well.”

“What?”

I stared at my father, smiling reminiscently, in incredulity, but when he went on he completely ignored my shocked look.

“We met during our last year in school, but it was only during our first year at university that things got more serious. In school, we’d always been friendly rivals, getting into trouble together occasionally. But during university we had most of our classes together and eventually, he asked me to share his room with him. I always had to travel quite far for my classes, because I was still staying at home, and I hadn't been able to afford a room of my own. It had been common for two young men to share a room, while going to university, so no one was wondering as long as we had two separate beds.” He laughed, twirling his moustache again.

“But after some time I realised that I was no longer satisfied with just being friends, that I wanted more. It took me a while to accept my feelings and I was perfectly aware of what it could mean for our friendship and my future should he not return them, but I took heart and confessed to him, and much to my surprise he told me that he felt the same. Like your mother already said, I’m a bit dense at times.” More chuckling.

“So we were a couple, although in secret, until the end of uni, when our jobs forced us to move to different towns. But since we were deeply and madly in love, we were convinced it would all work out, that at some point we’d be able to be together again. But years went by with only letters passing between us and eventually, he told me that he’d met another man. It still hurt, but I wrote that I would never deny him his happiness, not when I so clearly wasn’t able to be by his side. We parted as friends and shortly afterwards I met your mother. Of course I had thought I wasn’t interested in women anymore, but I should be proven wrong. Let me tell you, the moment your mother stepped into the room at our friend’s party I only had eyes for her. She was such a beauty and still is to this very day, and probably always will be!”

I listened to his story, and even though I should have felt relieved to know that my father had once loved a man as well, there was only anger rising inside me.

“Why are you telling me this?” I snapped. “And what about Mother? Does she even know about this man?”

“Ah, Ace. You really are my son, always so short tempered. There’s no need to worry. I told your mother all about him and that I’m most likely attracted to both men and women, as far as I can tell, but if she’s willing to accept that, I’d very much like to marry her. The smile she gave me after I told her, Ace. You should’ve seen it. I think there’s no one with more love in their heart than your mother. So kind and gentle. She said that she loves me for who I am, and since my past with that man and my preferences are both part of me, she loves them just as much.”

“So are you trying to tell me that, eventually, I’ll meet someone else, too, and forget all about Sabo? Or that I might fall in love with a woman as well?” I asked, still sounding aggressive.

My father only shook his head.

“Not at all. What I’m trying to tell you is that I know of the problems arising when you’re in love with a man. There may be countries in this world, where relationships, such as yours and Sabo’s, are already tolerated, but unfortunately, this isn’t one of them. If you stay here you’ll face oppression and discrimination. You’ll be laughed at, you’ll be hated, you’ll be feared and you may even end up in prison. All this awaits you, if the two of you decide to be open about your relationship. However, if you decide to keep it a secret it won’t be much better. You’ll never be able to live together without people whispering behind your backs and you most likely won’t have many friends, probably constantly questioning, which ones you can actually trust with the truth. But despite all that, I want you to know that we, your parents, will never forsake you. We love you no matter who you fall in love with and we’ll love whoever you decide to bring into this family. And I like Sabo. He seems to be loyal and not as arrogant as most of the other nobles, and I believe you, if you tell me that he loves you as much as you love him.

“However, don’t think for even a second his parents will react the same way as we did. If they only throw him out and disinherit him, you both are lucky. I heard his father talk about gay men on several occasions now, and I prefer not to repeat his words. But the reason I’m telling you this is so you know what it’ll mean for him to tell his parents. And so you’re aware of the role you’re most likely going to play in his life should he choose to tell them. If he does, you're going to be the only family he has left, Ace. He’ll be depending on you for support, and your responsibility as his partner will be to be by his side. That is no easy burden to carry.”

I did not answer right away, my brain still not done with processing my father’s earnest words. Anger, gratitude, fear and relief all battled for dominance inside me, and I had no idea how to handle the situation. Of course I had wondered what my parents would say should they ever, for example, catch Sabo and me kissing in a dark corner of a hall, but I had never assumed something close to what had just happened. My father confessing that he had been in love with a man once, admitting that he liked both men and women. And then the fact that my parents were so easily accepting my love for Sabo, my mother probably having found out even before I had known.

And in my youthful stubbornness I wanted nothing more than to tell him that Sabo and I were different, that we would beat the odds, that if his family rejected and disinherited him we would still live together happily ever after. But unlike a few months back, there was reason’s tiny voice whispering in my head now, telling me that what my father had said was nothing but the truth. He had painted the harsh reality awaiting the two of us, and no matter how depressing his words were, I had to admit that they were simply the words of a loving father fearing for his son’s happiness and wellbeing. A father, who had experienced what it meant to suffer the consequences of secrecy. His words had been a warning, and maybe even a test to see whether I meant what I had said. That I really loved Sabo as much as I believed I did.

But then I was also full of defiance. If Sabo wanted to tell his parents I would be by his side. If they threw him out and forbade him to ever come near them again I would hold his hand to let him know that _I_ was still there. If he was beaten I would offer my own cheek to be slapped, my own body to be hit with sticks, my bones to be broken in his stead. If someone wanted to take him away from me I would fight them to death and if he chose to leave this country I would follow in him to the end of this world.

I swallowed, burning with determination.

“I love him. And nothing will change that.”

My father smiled nostalgically, probably remembering his own youth. It had been awkward and upsetting having to listen to his talk about his past lover, but the longer I thought about it, the more I understood why he had told me. He could relate. He wanted me to know that he shared my pain, my suffering, but he had also affirmed how much he loved my mother, and should I doubt that I only needed to look at them. The small gestures of love they exchanged every day, the reassuring smiles, the attentive glances, the light, fleeting touches.

“I wish the two of you all the happiness there is, Ace,” he finally said, voice solemn, honesty and sadness underlining his words.

Silence reigned over the room for a while as both of us were dwelling on what we had just talked about until a question came up in my mind, though I wasn’t sure, if it was appropriate to ask. My fingers nervously played with the lighter still in my hand, flipping it over time and time again until I took heart.

“Your…friend,” I began, not entirely sure how to call the man he had just told me about. My father looked up.

“What about him?”

“Did you remain in contact with him?”

There was a pause and I was already wondering whether I would even get an answer or if my father simply did not want to talk about it, choosing silence to let me know not to pry further, when he spoke at last.

“He wrote me a letter before he emigrated to the New World. From what I’ve heard he’s become quite the businessman, though he’s more active on the illegal side. Apparently doing a lot of smuggling, especially booze, since it’s prohibited over there. He told me to leave the country, before things would turn for the worse. That’s been a couple of years ago now.” He laughed. “And we’re still here and things got worse, much worse even. But it seems he has quite the family now. He always wanted a big family. Has a lot of adopted sons and daughters now, probably helping out with his shady business.” My father was twirling the ends of his moustache again, staring into the not so far distance of the storeroom and I concluded that it was better to leave him alone for a while, so he could get lost in his thoughts.

I returned my attention to the work I so suddenly had dropped, picking up the piece of paper from the floor and adding it to the pile that was supposed to be shredded, suddenly understanding why these documents needed to vanish. If someone found them here the whole office would be accused of high treason, and since my father wasn’t planning on publishing anything, it was like sitting on a ticking time bomb.

However, now that I was aware of the importance of those papers I actually payed attention to their content, but the more I read the worse I felt, the reality of the pending war sinking in with every new piece of information passing through my hands. So after scanning a couple of papers I returned to simply checking their numbers, trying to dispel my fears with thought of Sabo.

I was just thinking about officially telling my mother about our relationship, when my father spoke up.

“You know, Ace. I think you should tell your mother about you and Sabo tonight. It would mean a lot to her to hear it from you personally, I’m sure.”

I nodded, before realising he couldn't see with his back turned on me, so I added, “I was just thinking the same. I’ll let her know. Though I’d like to talk to Sabo first. Maybe I’ll go straight to his place once we’re done, if it isn’t too late.”

The thought alone made the corner of my lips twitch in excitement until I was grinning like the love drunk fool I was.

“We should be done with most of it soon,” my father informed me and I returned to the box before me with renewed enthusiasm.

A knock on the door not even a minute later had us both look up and momentarily cease our work.

“Come in,” my father called out and the door was flung open, revealing a panting man with ruby-red hair.

Judging by his heavy breathing and the sweat stain on his shirt he had forgone the comfort’s of the lift and chosen to run up the stairs to my father’s office instead. He was one of my father’s personal assistants, so I was already acquainted with him familiar, since he showed up at our house every now and then, picking up things or dropping something off. His name was Shanks, but due to his trademark red hair he had been dubbed ‘Red Hair’ at some point.

“What is it?”

My father sounded alarmed and I felt my own pulse quicken in response.

“We just received word from the south. It’s Dragon and Luffy…”

We both jumped to our feet simultaneously.

“Did something happen?” I blurted out, before my father had even said another word.

Shanks’ eyes wandered from my father to me and back. Of course he knew how close Luffy and I were, but he hesitated nonetheless, probably undecided whether I should hear what he had to say or if it was better to tell my father first and leave the hard part of telling me to him. That alone was proof enough that something had happened and I was grateful, when my father gave him permission to speak.

“They set fire to the Monkey Mansion.”

“Who’s they?” I asked, but this time my father had a question of his own, nearly drowning out my voice with his own bass.

“Where are Dragon and Luffy?”

“Already on their way west. Someone warned them, so they weren’t at the house, when they came, and Dragon sent a telegram just before they boarded the train. It takes half an hour to the border from there. Once they’re out of the country they should be safe, at least for the time being. But I’m not sure they should come back.”

All the information made my head buzz and the more I thought about what Shanks had just said, the more questions arose. Who were they? Who had warned Dragon and Luffy? Why were they heading towards the border and out of the country? And why shouldn’t they come back?

Again my father spoke.

“No, they definitely shouldn’t. Not with war on our doorstep and violence against various ethnic groups increasing. I’ll try to send a telegram to the town, where they’ll most likely get off the train. Dragon has a friend there. He probably informed him, too. Maybe we can call them once they’ve arrived.”

“Dad!” I interrupted them, slowly starting to panic. They both turned to look at me, apparently having forgotten that I was still there in the room with them. “What’s going on? Are Luffy and Dragon alright?”

Shanks pressed his lips together and my father looked grim, weathered face lined with sorrow and anger.

“I’ll see you at your office, Shanks,” he said, dismissing him.

“I’ll try to reach Rayleigh.”

“Tell him it’s an emergency. He’ll be here in no time.”

With that Shanks headed out of the room, closing the door behind him to give my father and me some privacy.

“Our work for today is done, Ace. You should head home and tell your mother what I’m about to tell you now. She’ll be upset after she’s heard the news, I’m sure. Maybe you should even stay with her, because I don’t know, when I’ll be able to come home. But please tell her not to worry about me!”

I wasn’t even able to nod in confirmation, I had barely processed his request, my mind too occupied with worrying over Luffy and Dragon, and the fact that somehow the boy, who I held dear as if he was my little brother, apparently had to flee the country for reasons yet unbeknownst to me.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong, Dad. Why did someone set fire to the Monkey Mansion? And why are they leaving the country?” My voice was thin, full of disbelief and bewilderment.

My father regarded me with a look fathers give their children, when they do not want to tell them the truth about something, because they would rather shield them from this world’s cruelty for a little longer, while at the same time they are very well aware that their children are old enough and deserve to know.

“Remember that we talked about the king’s supporters a couple of nights ago?”

“The nobles?”

“No, the other ones. The ones who demolish shops and start riots. The Royalists. There is an opposition in this country, but it is small. However, since those thugs started to take action, it has become more and more dangerous to speak up. They’re so hungry for violence a war would suit them just fine. But that’s not all. They’re also racist and xenophobic and that is why they’ve started to attack people of other ethnicities. At first, they were only active in the southeast, but their ideology has spread like wildfire, and they have branches all over the country now, raiding shops, attacking innocent people, who have nothing to do with politics, rioting in the name of the king. And the capital does nothing to stop them. On the contrary. It seems the crown intents to use them to force people into obedience through fear. As to Dragon and Luffy… Dragon is a well-known attorney, who’s openly criticised the king. And then he's also not, as they call it, ‘pure blooded’. That’s all the reason they need.”

I stared on in shock, remembering all the times, when I had glimpsed another headline telling about another riot in one of the country’s bigger towns or how more and more people were suddenly leaving under the pretence of visiting relatives for a couple of weeks—probably to see how the whole situation would develop from a safe distance. But Luffy and Dragon… I had known that they were not what those people called ‘pure blooded’, however, they were as much citizens of this country as I was. There was simply no difference between us. The Monkey family had been in this country for centuries. Probably for as long as my mother’s family had held a title. Only to now be brandished and persecuted.

Anger flared up inside me, hot and all-consuming, fanned by the possibility of what could have happened to them, if they had been present at the mansion. My teeth clicked as my jaw locked, every muscle in my body suddenly tense as fury seeped into every fibre of my being, hands, balled up into fists, trembling at my sides.

“They…could’ve died,” I said at last, my voice nothing but a whisper, clearly betraying how agitated I was, and how reluctant to say the words, because speaking them aloud would only ad to their upsetting truth.

“That was most likely what those people intended. Fortunately, we’ve been expecting something like this to happen, and even though there are a lot of Royalists in your hometown, Dragon and Luffy are also liked by a lot of people. And some of them apparently had the courage to warn them in time.”

The lack of relief in my father’s voice, however, betrayed that this was not the end of the matter,and I swallowed hard, fighting against the dread mixing in with the fury. Surely, there was something I could do? Something to help. I regarded Luffy as my little brother, I needed to protect him.

“What can we do?” I asked.

Another of my father’s careful, guarded looks, and I was about to protest, to tell him that I wasn’t a child anymore, that there had to be something I could do, when he raised his hand, effectively silencing me, though more out of surprise than respect.

“I know you don’t want me to tell you that there’s nothing you can do right now, but there isn’t. At least not for Luffy and Dragon. Even I haven’t come up with anything yet, and I won’t rush into anything, before I haven’t spoken to Dragon. We don’t have enough information on the entire situation. Maybe he already has a plan, and if he doesn’t, we need to figure things out together. However, since I know how irritating it is to just sit around idly, I will tell you this. I’ve already asked you to go home and tell your mother about what happened and stay with her. I could send someone else to do that, too, but what good would it do? You are her son, she loves you with all her heart. Comfort her, so I know someone who truly cares for her is with her, when I can’t be. It would put my mind at ease and it’ll make figuring things out so much easier once we get to that point. Do you understand, Ace? Can you do this for me?”

My father knew I would not be satisfied with this task, because he would not have been either, but he was calling upon a son’s love for his mother. What choice did I have? And I understood why he wanted me to be there, I wanted the same. But I still felt so maddeningly helpless nonetheless.

I hung my head in defeat, surprised, when I felt the weight of a hand on my shoulder.

“I will send someone to tell the two of you what’s going on once I’ve spoken to Dragon. But tell your mother I probably won’t be home until morning.”

I nodded.

“I’ll wait for you,” I promised, and a faint smile lit up my father’s face as he squeezed my shoulder, before he turned around to leave the storeroom, and I followed.

My mother knew something was wrong the moment I stepped over the threshold. I lead her off to the sitting room and urged her to take a seat in her favourite chair next to my grand piano, taking the one on the other side of the coffee table. Sorrow and pain lined her face, bitterness dulling the usual sparkle in her soft brown eyes. She had lost nothing of her graceful appearance, but for the first time I was aware of her fragility, the remnants of her illness. But maybe they had always been there, only I hadn’t seen them or I had simply chosen to ignore them, like I had chosen to turn a blind eye on so many other things as well. The steadily approaching war, the news of riots and raids caused by those accursed Royalists, the fact that Sabo’s parents most likely would not accept our relationship. I had ignored all that in favour of my own happiness, had lived obliviously until the point, where I had forcibly been pulled into reality.

How egoistic. I had truly led a sheltered life. What a spoiled child I was. All I ever had to care about had been practicing the piano. My greatest worry being whether I was able to see Sabo the next day, and the one thereafter, not caring for what was happening in the world outside my protected bubble.

“Your father will figure something out, Ace. That’s the man he is. They’ll be fine.”

My mother’s sad, yet comforting smile made me leap to my feet in anger, though I turned and walked over to the window right away, so she wasn't able to see the scowl twisting my face adorned with the freckles I had inherited from her.

Hadn’t my father specifically asked me to come here and comfort her? Then why, _why_ , was she the one comforting me again? Was I the fragile one? Was I in so much need of protection? I bit my lip in sheer frustration. Even Sabo had offered his support so many times, had reassured me more than I had consoled him. He was strong, and I…

“I’ll go down to the kitchen to inform the cook that your father won't make it back in time for dinner tonight,” my mother said, rising from her seat with a rustle of her skirts and I simply nodded, knowing my voice would have betrayed my anger.

I waited until I heard her close the door, before my fingers flew up to the lock of the French door, throwing it open and stepping onto the veranda. I hurried down the wooden steps and towards the back of the garden. I needed some fresh air, some time alone to cope with all the anger building up inside me.

My feet stopped next to one of the old oak trees, the lights from the sitting room barely reaching all the way out here. Resting my palm against the hundred year old bark of the majestic tree, feeling its rough, uneven surface, the twisted pattern, I tried to close my hand, pulling, getting my fingertips in between a gap in the bark, trying to rip it off, venting my anger on the innocent tree. It didn’t budge, and I kept tearing at it, trying to built up more physical strength by directing my frustration towards the oak, only ending up bruising the delicate skin on my pianist fingers.

But since the world was at the brink of war anyway, there most likely wouldn’t be many more chances for me to play the piano.

I let go of the tree, burying my hand in my hair instead and ground my teeth. How many days did I have left to play? How many to enjoy the company of my parents? How many times would I still be able to kiss Sabo, to hold him and tell him I much I loved him? And what about Luffy and Dragon. Would I ever see them again? There hadn’t been a chance for me to say goodbye. And what about my father? What would I do if someone found out about the files and reports hidden in the storeroom beside his office and accused him of treason? What, if the police came to arrest him? Would I be able to make a difference?

I staggered, my head buzzing with so many thoughts tormenting my mind, so many questions I did not know the answers to. Gasping for air, panting, I reached out for the tree once more, steading myself with the unswerving support it offered.

“Ace?” my mother’s voice echoed through the darkness, more worry ringing out in her tone.

I took two more deep breaths, persuading my heart to slow down its frantic pace, before straightening my posture.

I had had so many people in my life constantly trying to protect me and I had gotten so used to it that even now, that I was a grown man, I still heavily relied on them, and even though I had turned eighteen at the beginning of the year I still had not grown up. But now I had to. Even more so, if I wanted to protect those dear to me and not be a burden any longer.

I took my mother’s delicate hand into my own once I had made it back to the veranda, where she had dutifully waited for me to return from the darkness, smiling at her reassuringly, noting with relief how some of the sorrow clouding her eyes disappeared, leading her inside again.

“Shall I play the piano, while we wait for news from Dad?” I asked and she gently squeezed my hand.

“I’d love that. It’d provide some distraction. Let me just call for the rest of the staff, so they can gather here, too. They’re worried as well in times like these. It’ll all do us good.” And just like that the sparkle was back in my mother’s hazel eyes, and some of guilt’s heavy weight was lifted off my shoulders.

I removed the lid from the grand piano’s keys as I sat down on the cushioned piano stool, briefly stretching my fingers and deliberately ignoring the stinging of the raw skin around my nails, where the oak’s bark had left some tiny scratches, before I started to play the first few bars of Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune’. Not before long my mother returned with some of the maids and the cook in tow, the two butlers following shortly after.

My mother asked them to sit wherever they liked, everyone helping themselves to some hot tea despite the warm summer day today had been, while I continued playing, soon enough too engrossed in the music to pay much attention to anything else.

It had been a couple of days, since I had last touched the black and white keys of my instrument, and even though I hadn’t missed it as much as I thought I would, it still felt good to feel the smooth material beneath my fingertips. To hear the notes resonating through the air, created by my hands striking the keys and thus striking the metal strings with the padded hammer at the keys’ ends. Notes and chords became a melody, invisible magic made of sound to bewitch the listener’s mind, creating a peaceful illusion in the heads of my audience and carrying them away with the andante tempo of the piece, pulling them into the gentle flow of Debussy’s composition.

If only we could have all remained in this imaginary, peaceful musical world…

My father returned during the early hours of the morning. My mother had fallen asleep in her favourite chair and the household staff had returned to their rooms or gone home, and I was standing at the French doors again, watching the sun’s slow rise. Its first faint rays falling through the gaps between the trees’ foliage created a pattern of brightly glowing spots on the darker grass and bathed the garden in pastel colours little by little, a streak of muted orange colouring the horizon, slowly fading away with every passing minute to be replaced by a striking azure and another warm and sunny summer’s day.

I had played the piano for about two hours, though not continuously, because I had noticed one of the maids inch closer and closer, excitedly observing my flitting fingers and the way I held my body, while playing the various pieces. When she had finally stood right beside me, I had turned my head, asking her, if she knew any pieces herself. She had snapped out of her daze, blushing at the fact how close she had come, hurriedly mumbled apologies coming from her lips. I had laughed and asked her to stay and watch, and she had taken courage, telling me how it was not only a joy to listen to my music, but also to watch me play. I remembered that Sabo had once said the same thing. Of course I had thanked her for her compliment and she had confessed a bit shyly that, indeed, she was playing the piano as well, though her play was nothing but a child’s compared to mine.

When I had finished the piece, I had offered her the stool nonetheless. She had politely refused, but had eventually given in and taken a seat. Her first few pieces had been simpler ones, usually taught to familiarise a beginner’s stiff fingers with the new strain, fun exercises to train the joint’s agility for the speed, which would later be required for allegro or presto pieces, and to prevent injuries. The last piece she had played had been Beethoven’s ‘For Elise’ much to my surprise, and she had admitted that it was her favourite piece afterwards, asking me, if I would mind playing it, since she wanted to observe me during the more complicated, faster parts. I had gladly granted her wish.

Once my mother and I had found ourselves alone in the room again, she had approached me, the weight of her hands on my shoulders a calming presence, while I had continued to move my hands over the black and white keys, playing whatever tune popped into my head, following my own notes.

“I think you should go and tell Sabo about what happened to Dragon and Luffy tomorrow. He’s met them, too, and I’m sure he’d appreciate it, if you told him,” she had said and my fingers had hesitated to strike the next keys for the duration of a heartbeat, my whole body stiffening as I remembered what my father had advised me on. So I had stopped my play and turned around to tell her and it had turned out just like my father had predicted. We had talked for some time until I had resumed playing again and she had fallen asleep in her chair.

However, the moment my father closed the front door behind him she woke and hurried to greet him, while I was patiently waiting at the piano, granting them a few moments to themselves after this troublesome night. Since my father hadn’t sent anyone with news I had assumed he had simply been too busy and after he had told us everything over an early breakfast, I knew why.

He had been able to reach Dragon on the phone just before he and Luffy had boarded the next train to the closest seaport. Dragon had informed him that he had already arranged for a larger part of his assets to be transferred to a bank in the New World, where Luffy would be headed, too, taking the first ship out this very morning.

“What about Dragon, though?” I asked with a furrowed brow.

“He’ll come back,” my father answered grimly.

“But they’ll be after him the moment he sets foot on this country’s territory again!” my mother exclaimed, tightly clutching her knife.

“That’s what I told him, too. But he has his reasons, though I’d prefer not to share them with the two of you. Not because I don’t trust you, but because he asked me, and also because I’d like to keep you safe in case someone figures out we’re close friends with the Monkey Family. It’s enough already that you know he has every intention of coming back here.”

As much as I wanted to know what Dragon’s plans were, I agreed with my father. This was no longer some trivial matter and even though I was willing to keep Dragon’s secret no matter the threat, it was probably for the best, even more so since Dragon had explicitly asked my father not to tell anybody else.

“What about Luffy, though? He’ll be all by himself in the New World. At least I don’t know of anybody he knows over there,” I wondered.

“That’s why I’ve been away all night. I tried to get a hold of my old friend Edward Newgate.”

I went silent at the mention of that man’s name at our breakfast table, feeling a bit awkward with my mother present. She, on the other hand, asked my father, “And did you get a hold of him?” as if it was nothing.

And really, it was, wasn’t it? I briefly wondered whether she was aware who that name belonged to, before I realised that she probably did, but that she wasn’t willing to waste her time worrying over it. My father had loved that man once and they had parted as friends and he had told her, and now he loved her. The only one still fretting about it was me. So I pushed my uneasiness aside and tried acting like an adult.

“Luckily, I did. He’ll be there to pick up Luffy once his ship has reached its destination and he’ll also administer Dragon’s money until Luffy’s of age. I mean, we’ve all been friends during our time at university anyway, so he said it’s only natural for him to help Dragon out in time of needs. Luffy will be in good hands and even though he’s undertaking illegal business, he’s someone I’d still entrust my life to.” My father smiled fondly, which in turn elicited a relieved smile on my mother’s face.

“How was it to talk to him after such a long time?” she asked, her interest genuine.

My father thought about his answer for a moment.

“He sounded happy and content, though we didn’t have much time to talk about pleasant things. He asked about the two of you, of course, and I asked about his sons and daughters, but apart from that we were talking about the current situation really. His family has grown even bigger. And he told me that people over there are barely caring for the possibility of war over here, they’re more worried whether or the not the ban on booze will be lifted.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“But it’s good to know he’s doing fine, and even better to know that Luffy will be staying with someone both Dragon and you trust, and who’s going to look out for him.”

My father nodded in agreement and I added jokingly, “Maybe we should all just go to the New World, if all they have to worry about is when their booze’ll be legal again.”

My parents both looked at me, my mother still smiling, though the look on my father’s face had changed somewhat, the lines deeper again, and he sounded rather thoughtful, when he said, “Yes, maybe we should.” But he still offered a faint smile at the end.

Calmed somewhat by my father’s return home and the assurance that, at least for now, Luffy was alright, I found a couple of hours of peaceful sleep, exhaustion taking over the moment I had laid eyes on my bed. It would have been too early to go over to Sabo’s house anyway, so I had been easily persuaded by the soft comfort my mattress and the light summer blankets offered.

By the time I woke up again, the sun was already high on the sky, heralding another hot day and I quickly changed into some light clothes, before heading out with a cheerfully shouted goodbye, taking my bicycle from the butler and paddling down the street. People were already busy despite the heat and some even greeted me on my way to Sabo’s, already used to seeing either him or me on this route.

I leaned the bicycle against the thick hedge surrounding the premises and looked up at the second floor. The windows of Sabo’s room where on the backside of the house, so they could not be seen from my position, but I was sure the moment I rang the bell Sabo would come running down the stairs in the hopes it would be me who was visiting. My mother had informed me that he hadn’t come by our house yesterday, but, just like me, he had probably been busy with something and hadn’t had the time to let me know. It didn’t matter, though, as long as I got to see him now.

My heart started racing. It would be the first time after…what had happened two days prior, and the memory still brought a rush of feelings with it, my stomach twisting in excitement and happiness, a gentle warmth spreading out on my face. I grinned wildly in the secrecy of the hedge, eager to tell Sabo the news about my parents knowing of our relationship and the fact that, from now on, we could openly hold each other’s hands at my home.

I quickly strode over to the entrance and rang the door bell, wringing my hands in anticipation. A moment later the butler opened the door and I beamed at him, waiting to be let in. Sabo’s household staff knew me well and I was let in with a curt bow, but then the butler asked me to wait in the vast entrance hall for Lady Outlook’s arrival. Furrowing my brow, I shrugged and agreed, wondering, if Sabo had already left the house—maybe he was on the way over to my place and we had somehow missed each other, because he had taken a different route… I would find out soon enough.

It took a while until Lady Outlook finally descended the stairs from the second storey in a rustle of satin fabric, hair done up perfectly as always, and a lot of white powder on her face, exuding the smell of a heavy cologne.

“Ace,” she said with that high ring unique to her voice and which sometimes made me wince, but today I ignored it in favour of getting to Sabo as quickly as possible.

“Lady Outlook,” I greeted, knowing she insisted on people using her title, when they addressed her no matter how long they had know her for. She was also one of the only people still addressing my mother as Lady Portgas, though she had taken my father’s name, Gol, upon marriage. “Is Sabo home?”

She pressed her lips together, a sour expression on her face—or maybe it was bitterness? I couldn’t tell, but it definitely diminished my excitement and my grin wavered.

“He is, but unfortunately, you won’t be able to see him.”

I blinked in confusion, a knot of panic forming in my guts. Had she found out about us?

“And…why is that?” I asked, regarding her with caution, my palms already sweaty.

“He is sick, and the doctor said his illness is highly contagious. Not even we go to his room to see him,” she answered, pursing her coloured lips, her posture signalling that she was hoping this whole conversation was over now.

“But who’s taking care of him?” I wondered, and the sharp arch of her brow told me I had asked the wrong question.

“The servants of course,” came her curt reply as she came a couple of steps closer, and I noticed the butler standing at attention in the background.

“I see. But won’t they get sick, too?”

“They are wearing masks and gloves. Besides, it is their duty. We are their masters after all.”

I pressed my lips together, her tone and what she had said so unlike how my parents talked about our staff, but it hadn’t taken me long to figure out what kind of noble Lady Outlook was, I had spent enough time at this house after all.

“Could I see Sabo, if I wore a mask and gloves as well?” I asked hopefully, stepping closer, too, only for the butler to move along with me. I glanced over at him, brow furrowing further. This was odd. And suddenly the whole atmosphere seemed tense. Something was off.

“Certainly not. And I thought it best if you left now, Ace,” she said, sounding final, motioning for the door and the butler hurried past us to open it again.

I remained, where I was, brimming with anger at her refusal to let me see Sabo, but I had not yet figured out what best to say next. However, the longer I stood there staring at her the more disobedience grew inside me.

“At least tell me how he is? Is he going to be fine?”

“He will be. In due time.”

“So can I come see him…on the weekend? Will he be better by then?”

She moved so quickly I actually stepped back reflexively, but she caught up to me nonetheless, leaning in so the butler wouldn’t her the spitefully whispered words, the oppressive stench of her flowery perfume taking my breath away.

“He’ll be better once you stay away from him. I do not wish for my only son to be associate with your kind. You’ve corrupted him enough already. We’ll be lucky, if nobody else has seen what disgusting things you make him do.”

My eyes widened in horror at her words, my mouth falling open to say something, anything, but nothing came out. She knew! Someone else besides my father had seen us and they had told Sabo’s parents and now they kept him locked up in his room in a desperate attempt to keep us apart.

“Mr. Gol is ready to leave now,” she hissed at the butler, her eyes full of malice and the butler actually grabbed my arm, tugging at it firmly and I staggered after him, still stupefied from the rude insults she had said to me, and before I knew what had happened I was already outside again, the butler about to close the door.

My hand shot out, fist colliding with the door as I forced it back again, sending the butler stumbling backwards with the unexpected force of my resistance. But Sabo’s mother was there within an instant, throwing her gaunt body against the door. If it had just been her I would have overpowered her easily, but her interference had given the butler enough time to regain his equilibrium and I barely stood a chance against the two of them.

Just before the door closed in my face, she spit out, “I never want to see you here again, and don’t you dare to ever come near Sabo again, scum!” then the door closed with a sharp bang.

I still continued to push, but, unsurprisingly, the door remained closed, and a first desperate gasp, almost sounding like a sob, freed itself from my lungs. She knew. And Sabo…Was his sickness real or just a lie? An attempt to get rid of me as fast as possible and without causing a stir? The inner change from growing desperation to pure rage occurred within the blink of an eye, and with a furious cry my fist crashed against the hard, unyielding wood.

Seething, I stepped back from the door, looking left and right for the shortest way around the house, before sprinting off on what I thought was the quickest way to Sabo’s window.

“Sabo!” I yelled. “Sabo!”

It didn’t matter whether he was sick or not as long as he knew I had come for him, that I would not give up like that. His parents were an obstacle we could certainly overcome. From behind me I heard his mother screeching for the butlers to get me at once and throw me off the premise, but I kept running, determined to do whatever it took to talk to him, even see him even if it was only for a second.

I had reached the side of the house, where Sabo’s window was and much to my relief it was wide open, probably to bring some relief before the summer’s oppressing heat returned around noon.

“Sabo! Can you hear me?” I called, my head whipping round to check how close the butlers were. My heart sank. They had almost reached me. I glanced back up at the window again, but Sabo wasn’t there. I took a deep breath, turning to brace my body for the force of the impact the moment the butlers would try to get a hold of me, before shouting at the top of my lungs.

“Sabo, I promise, I’m going to wait for you no matter how long! I’ll get you out of he—”

They had both leaped at me at once, one trying to hold my arms, while the other held me around my waist. I struggled, winding out of their grip, kicking and trashing around, and my clenched fist connected with a jaw. The one I had hit fell back, cursing loudly, and for a moment I saw a chance to free me from the other’s grip, when a third one showed up behind him. It was my turn to curse, when strong fingers curled around my arms, holding so tightly they would probably leave bruises. I pulled, groaning, but my breath was knocked out of me, when the third man kicked my feet out from under me, sending me crashing to the ground with the two other butlers landing on top of me.

“Let go!” I pressed out, desperately trying to loosen their grips, and failing. “Sabo!” I called again, half hoping he would finally show up at the open window, maybe even stop them, but the spot remained empty and I growled in frustration.

“Stop resisting, you bastard!” one of the butlers cursed, his elbow digging into my right thigh, a sharp stab of pain shooting up my leg. I froze momentarily, glaring at him out of the tangle of our bodies.

“Would’ve never thought a fagot would be that strong,” the one who had showed up last sneered. The other two were silent, before laughing in agreement.

“Fuck you,” I hissed, finally managing to withdraw my leg a bit, kicking blindly, but the agonised gasp was all I needed to confirm my foot had hit its mark.

“You little shit, I’m gonna break your damn legs,” the man growled, still pressing his palm to the spot right below his ribcage. And the malice in his watery eyes told me he would.

“Sabo!” I called again, ignoring the despair mingling with my tone. “Sabo, I’ll come and get you, I promise! And-” I took a deep breath, eyes widening in horror as I realised two of the men had effectively pinned me to the ground, while the other was getting ready to deal the first blow. “And we’ll run away, you hear! We’ll be together!” By the time I said the last words my voice was high with panic, before the man’s fist connected with my cheekbone.

Hot pain exploded over the left half of my face, the iron taste of blood warm on my tongue.

“The hell you’ll be together. Get him up!”

The two, who had held me down, roughly pulled me to my feet, but before I was even able to stand on my own another blow followed, this time to my stomach. More pain, paired with nausea, spread in my belly and I gagged, blinking to make out my attacker, but my head was spinning. The next fist to my face blurred my vision, and this time the pain was accompanied by a sharp crack echoing through my skull, but it didn’t keep the man from attacking. He took turns between my face and my stomach until I hung loosely in the other two’s firm grip.

“That’s enough.”

I barely heard the voice, but it was still clear enough to know that it belonged to a woman.

“Get him out of my sight.”

“Yes, Ma’am.

“Sabo,” I whispered, so low no one could hear, almost choking on my own blood, while they dragged me along. In the end, he hadn’t shown up or least not while I had still been able to see him, but I was sure if he had had, he would have tried to stop the butlers—if he had actually succeeded was a different matter.

The third man, the one who had punched me, opened the gate and the other two literally threw my out on the street. Just in time I was able to stretch out my arms to cushion the fall, my palms sliding over the cobblestones, grazing the delicate skin on loose pebble.

I coughed and rolled around onto my back, my entire body aching terribly. One of the butlers spit at my feet, sneering, whispering, “Damn faggot,” before closing the gate and walking away. I remained, where I was, unable to move my limbs, groaning every now and then, when another breath had just been too painful.

How long I had lain there for I didn’t know, maybe a couple of minutes or an hour, but when I was finally able to slowly roll onto my less injured side and push myself into a sitting position, it felt like a small eternity. I coughed some more, rummaging around in my pocket for a handkerchief, before carefully dabbing at my nose and lip, flinching at the touch and I wasn’t too surprised, when I pulled it away again and a crimson flower had bloomed on the once pristine whiteness of the cloth.

I cursed silently, put the stained handkerchief back into my pocket, and carefully stood up. Staggering with dizziness, I felt for the hedge to guide me along the walkway, holding onto the pricking leaves—leaving more small stinging cuts on my palm—for support until I had reached my bicycle.

The way home was long and painful. Since I wasn’t keen on attracting too much attention, I stayed off the beaten path, making use of the smaller alleys behind the old, grand houses, but after a while my head started spinning, my pulse too quick for the condition my body was currently in. I had to lean against a fence or a wall, close my eyes and take deep, painful breaths, gingerly holding my belly, never daring to pull up my shirt and check the building bruises, before I wasn’t home.

When I finally rounded the last corner, spotting the two cherry trees on our front lawn, I allowed for frustration and despair to take over, the reality of what had just happened fully sinking in, and I stumbled along the walkway towards our house, adrenaline leaving my maltreated beaten body only to be replaced by throbbing pain. A moment later my eyes stung, tears already pricking them and I bit my swollen, split lip to hold them back, tasting copper once more.

Luckily, the butler opened the door right after I had rang the doorbell and exhaustion made me stagger inside. My tired feet tripped, though, and the poor man caught me just in time, already calling for a maid and my father. The last thing I heard was my father’s shocked gasp and my mother crying my name in horror, then I lost consciousness.

When I came to again, I was already in my bed, my mother sitting beside me, looking distraught, her freckled cheeks tear-stained and her eyes red-rimmed, but a flash of relief lit up her face, when she saw I was awake.

“Ace,” she whispered softly, taking my hand, squeezing it gently, “Crokus is already on his way. Are you in much pain?”

I was, but I shook my head nonetheless. There was no need to trouble her more than I already had.

“What happened? I thought you went to see Sabo…” Her hazel eyes widened. “Is he hurt, too? Where is he?”

I opened my mouth to say something, but my tongue was thick and dry, and I only hoarsely mumbled something unintelligible. My father suddenly stepped out from behind my mother and my eyes shifted to him, and then to the glass filled with water he was handing her. I drank clumsily, coughing and spilling most of my mouth’s contents onto myself and the bedding. But despite the pain I was glad I had been given some time to come up with a plausible lie. Of course I didn’t like lying to my mother, but neither did I feel like telling her the truth, even more so since I wasn’t sure what she would do, knowing it had been upon Lady Outlook’s command that I had been beaten up by the butlers.

“He’s fine, Mum. Don’t worry,” I croaked, my voice barely audible with how quietly I spoke.

She only narrowed her eyes, making clear she didn’t believe a word I had said, and she was just about to tell me so, when my father, much to my surprise, put his hands on her shoulders, saying, “Crokus should be here any moment now. Did you tell the maids to prepare enough hot water?”

Her eyes traveled between him and me, and for a second I thought she would actually scold my father for trying to make her leave, but then she got up, muttering, “I probably should,” giving me on last glance over her shoulder to tell me she knew I had been lying and that she was expecting me to tell her the whole truth later, before she left the room, closing the door behind her.

I looked after her, partly relieved, although I was perfectly aware that I would cave in later and tell her everything. There was no use in hiding the truth from her anyway, she would find out one way or another, and I would rather she heard it from me instead of through some gossip carried in by the maids.

Sinking back into the pillows, I closed my eyes, taking careful breaths to not put any more strain on my aching ribs, trying my best to ignore the burning, throbbing left side of my face.

“Who did this?” my father’s voice, full of withheld rage, cut through the silence of the room.

I looked at him, suddenly infinitely tired, briefly wondering whether I should lie to him as well, but the expression on his face made me change my mind. His lips were pressed together so tautly under his moustache, the lines on his forehead so deep, I knew he had an inkling as to what had occurred, but I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to talk about everything that had happened. Saying it aloud would only make it more real, and that would mean the life I had known so far had suddenly come to an end, ultimately raising questions I did not yet want to ponder over.

I turned my head a little, avoiding his gaze, undecided. Of course keeping everything that had happened to myself was a burden I wasn’t sure I would be able to carry, but maybe if I refused to answer I could delay the inevitable storm of despair and sadness and rage from erupting—at least until tomorrow.

“They know,” my father said with finality, after it had taken me too long to answer, drawing his own conclusions from my reluctant silence.

I pressed my eyes close, tears threatening to spill, my throat raw and my heart in pain’s vice-like, icy grip.

“Yeah, they found out,” I whispered, the words like acid on my tongue and I swallowed thickly.

“What about Sabo?”

“Lady Outlook wouldn’t let me speak to him…”

“And she was also the one who ordered someone to…treat you like this?” he probed further, struggling more and more to keep his voice calm.

“Mhm. The butlers.”

The more answers I gave the more I remembered what had happened; my desperate cries for Sabo, the nearing butlers, the struggle that had ensued once they had caught up to me, their insults and blows, the spite twisting Sabo’s mother’s face, the revulsion and the disgust. Her final words replayed in my head.

“She told me to stay away from him,” I said, my voice choked with tears, though I was still able to hold them back.

A heartbroken sigh made my eyes fly open and I turned my head to see my father sit down on the chair beside my bed, which had been left vacant after my mother had left, moustached face buried in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Ace,” he mumbled hoarsely and I was honestly surprised by the grief in his voice. “I’ve been hoping I could protect you from all this. But that was only wishful thinking, it seems.”

I wanted to say something to make him feel less guilty, something that would make both of us feel better, but nothing came to mind, and the words I had shouted at Sabo’s window suddenly seemed empty and meaningless. What could I even do? Sneak onto the premises in the middle of the night to free him from his gilded cage like the prince usually saved the princess in those fairytales? Climbing up the vines to his window to rouse him from his sleep and take him with me to a faraway place? _That_ was wishful thinking. A child’s dream. But I no longer was a child, I had been forced to grow up by the cruelty the world had displayed the last two days.

Of course I could always try, but he was most likely guarded now, so I would have to give it time. Maybe a week or a month or maybe even a year. And what then? Where would we go, if I managed to free him or if he ran away on his own. The New World? Leaving the country meant to leave everything I had known so far, that I had taken for granted, behind. But if it was with Sabo, it was alright, wasn’t it?

I just wanted to tell my father, when a sharp knock on the door interrupted, and a second later my mother and Crokus entered the room.

* * *

The following night had been relatively peaceful. Crocus had given me some morphine to dull the pain and help me sleep. The drug had had the desired effects, numbing my body and lulling me into a dreamless slumber. However, when I opened my eyes that morning, at an hour closer to noon than early morning, I felt exhausted and listless, the parts of my body, which had been beaten, throbbing once again, but nothing in comparison to the agony in my chest.

My mother already sat beside me, informing me that my father had left for work a couple of hours ago, but that she would be home all day to look after me and that Crocus would return, should we need him. I urged her to go outside and not stay home just because of me, but of course she insisted, diverting the conversation elsewhere by asking, if I was hungry.

Luckily, the scratches on my hands were shallow and nothing to worry about, but I most likely wouldn’t be able to play the piano for at least a solid week, and I would spend today and most of tomorrow in bed as well.

My mother tried to make my time in bed as comfortable as possible. She propped me up on some pillows, careful not to put too much strain on my cracked rib, and then told me stories she had heard from the maids. Nothing political. No news about the war. To keep the atmosphere light. But eventually, my smiles became too forced, to tainted with sadness and she went quiet, looking at me with her big hazel eyes full of a mother’s worry. That was, when I finally caved and told her what had happened the day before.

As I had expected she was furious afterwards, her usually full lips stretched so thin they almost formed a straight line, giving her beautiful face an unfamiliar, bitter look.

“How dare she!” she whispered, so low and full of menace that I shivered. “If I didn’t know it would make things even worse for both you and Sabo, I’d go over there right now… But don’t worry, Ace. I’ll talk to your father. We’ll find a way to get Sabo out of there,” she tried to reassure me, and probably give herself some hope as well.

I looked at her, moved by her determination and how willing she was to share my pain, eager to shoulder a part of the weight threatening to crush me.

“Thank you,” I muttered, meaning it, before I turned my head to look out the window.

The curtains had not been drawn back all the way, but enough to let in some of summer’s bright afternoon light.

“But I think I need to do this alone. And I don’t want to drag you and Father into this mess, too.”

She made a small noise in protest, not happy with my answer, but I quickly continued to speak.

“Anyway, first of all I need to talk to Sabo, if I get the chance. Maybe…he wants to stay with his parents…”

“What makes you think that?” she asked right away, taking my right hand into hers as gently as possible to not hurt the scratches on my palm. “Didn’t you say you never saw him, when you went there yesterday?”

“It’s true, I didn’t. But after all that happened, why did he not even show up at the window?”

“Ace, my darling. There are a thousand possibilities why he wouldn’t show up there, but I’m sure none of it was because Sabo doesn’t want to see you again. Besides, even if he doesn’t, he’s not the type of person who would just let his mother do the breaking up for him. He’d at least talk to you. So maybe your approach is the best. See if you can talk to him first, before jumping to conclusions.”

I remained silent, contemplating what she had said.

“But maybe you should give it some time. He might actually be sick. You’ve been caught in a storm two days ago after all. And who knows… He might even show up here on his own.”

I squeezed her hand a bit, a soft smile tugging at my lips, deeply grateful for her attempt to cheer me up, whispering, “You really think so?”, already close to tears again, and she returned my smile with a radiant one of her own.

“Ace, it’s Sabo we’re talking about. There’s so much the two of you share. I’m positive it’s all going to work out somehow.”

I was deeply moved by her refusal to give up, and so I clung to her words.

I lay in my bed for the rest of the day and most of the next. Crocus showed up again to check on me, and my father spent most of his evening with me as well, though I could tell by the steadily deepening frown on his face that the world outside was changing drastically—and not for the better. But I never asked, too busy with all the thoughts whirling around in my head, and the more days passed, the harder it became to keep the desperation, which was building inside me, from taking over my mind.

On the second evening I was able to leave my bed for more than just a short trip to the bathroom, but I still depended on my father to guide me down the stairs for fear my head would start to spin and I would lose consciousness. My parents asked me, if I wanted to join them for supper, but somehow I was drawn to the grand piano, though all I was able to do was sit down on the chaise longue and stare at it, reminiscing in the past.

By the fourth day I was fine to move around the house on my own again, but my body still ached and I had to take breaks in between my walks to keep myself from blacking out. Again, most of my time was spend next to my piano. Staring at the gleaming, black top, I wondered, if my mother’s words would become reality and Sabo would show up here or when I would finally be healthy enough again to maybe sneak into his room at night.

Hours passed like this until I asked my mother to bring me some music paper from town on the fifth day. The bruises had taken all sorts of colours, but the swelling slowly subsided and the pain started to wear off; except for my cracked rib, which would remind me of what had happened, whenever I became impatient enough to make a rash move.

On the sixth day—it had already been over a week that I had last seen Sabo, which, of course, felt like a small eternity to me, especially with how on edge I was—I was finally able to sit back down in front of my instrument, a small table next to me with the sheets of music paper my mother had bought me and the vague idea of a melody in my head.

For the first time in my life I had actually lost all enthusiasm to play my instrument, the sole thought only reminding me of Sabo, and our much treasured time together, because I could easily recall the ways he would have played a piece. No, playing was not an option at the moment. So I attempted to compose my own music, even if it was just to have an outlet for the storm of feelings raging on inside me.

But the longer I composed the more I realised that something was amiss. The whole thing sounded empty, hollow. I changed a few notes here and there, but it remained the same. Frustrated, I tore my hair and collapsed on top of the keys with an angry groan, not even flinching at the nasty sound this produced. What was I missing? I closed my eyes and racked my brain. What was it that I wanted to express? What feeling did I want to convey?

A light smile played at the corner of my lips. Sabo would have known. Just like he always found the right words or offered the right gestures, whenever I thought I would never be able to play a particular piece properly. I felt safe, when he sat next to me. Confident. Loved.

What would it sound like, if Sabo actually sat beside me now, accompanying me? Not with the violin. No. With his favourite. The cello. What melody would he play to complete this piece?

I daydreamed and in my head the repetitive, even melody I had already written down for the piano started to mix with a second one. I saw Sabo's slender fingers press down the strings on the bridge, his right arm guiding the bow back and forth, creating a perfect harmony.

The whole melody had something sad, yet peaceful to it, and eventually I took another piece of paper and started to fill the lines with the cello's notes.

And one day I would get the chance to play this piece together with Sabo. But until then it would remain unfinished.

When my mother called me for supper that day, I hastily scribbled the piece’s name at the top of the first page.

_Love Theme._

* * *

Suddenly, I was full of energy and hope again. Everything would work out somehow. I was sure, if I managed to write the last bar on this piece, Sabo and I would definitely be together again. Then I headed out of the room, the first genuine smile, since the day I had gone over to the Outlook Mansion, lighting up my face again.

If only I had known that this piece should forever remain unfinished.

Because on the seventh day—it was already close to midnight, and my mother had just wished me good night—my father burst into the house, Shanks and Buggy on his heels. My mother stopped in the doorway, just about to ask what all the commotion was about, but my father beat her to it.

“You need to pack right away! Only light and only what’s most important to you. Don’t dally, there’s no time.”

“Roger…” my mother said, hazel eyes darting back and forth between my father and his employees. “Did something happen?”

“I’ll explain everything upstairs, but we need to hurry. Please start packing. Buggy and Shanks will help you.” He was already about to usher her upstairs and she obliged. I followed only a moment later.

“They found out about the files we’ve been hiding at the agency, and, according to our informants, they’re currently preparing to search the offices. We won’t be able to get rid of everything in time, let alone that they most likely have a spy among my staff, who’s already gotten their hands on some substantial evidence. I’ve already informed everyone else, whom I trust is not that person, to go into hiding immediately.”

“But do you really think they’ll come for us as well…”

“They will, if they catch me and I’ll refuse to talk. I’ll be charged with high treason, they have no reason to not charge you with the same. You’re my wife and son after all. Besides…”

I could tell the next part he was about to say wasn’t easy for him, since he was still debating whether or not to actually say it aloud, but eventually he continued to speak.

“I’ve been told that Lord Outlook has a special interest in getting rid of Ace. Apparently, he knows a few people in the right places, who’d make it look as if Ace has been a part of this all along, engaging with Sabo to gather more intel. They’ll make it look as if he seduced him for the sole purpose of spying on the Outlook Family, and since they’re part of a branch of the royal family, people might actually believe it. Outlook, that bastard, wants to kill two birds with one stone.”

“You can’t be serious!” my mother yelled, face flush with rage, but also incredulity, stopping on the stairs.

“We don’t have time to question this right now. We all need to get out of the city as soon as possible, before they find out we’ve been warned.”

“But where will we go?” I interjected, struggling to keep my cool even after what my father had just said.

“North, for now. To the closest port.”

“But-”

“We’ll talk in the car, go and pack now, please.”

My mother and I did as we were told, hastily rummaging around in our closets, while my father had headed off to his own room, most likely retrieving whatever valuables and other important things he kept in his study. I blindly threw random clothing into one of my smaller suitcases, not even bothering with questions about the weather or dinners we might be invited to.

I jumped, when my door closed behind me, whipping around wide-eyed to see my father approaching.

“Ace. I’m going to tell you a few things now, but I need you to keep absolutely quiet about this. Do you understand?”

Both his large hands curled around my upper arms, and I probably would have winced, if it hadn’t been for all the adrenalin in my body to act as endogenous morphine. The grave look on his weathered face, however, left only room for one answer—a sharp nod of my head as I sign I had understood and would comply.

“Once we’ve reached the port, you and your mother are going to board a ship to the New World. I’ve already arranged for someone to book passage for the two of you. We’ll meet them at the docks as soon as we’ve arrived. From now on you’ll travel under the name Portgas, instead of Gol. It’ll attract less attention. The same applies to your mother. We’ll probably just about make it in time, before the ship leaves the harbour, but that’s the only way we can ensure they won’t catch up to the two of you. Even so, you need to watch out for you and your mother, while you’re on the ship and even in the New World. At least until you’ve met up with Edward, alright?”

I nodded mechanically, my pulse racing as I went over everything he had just again, trying to remember every minute detail. Until the actual meaning of his words sank in.

“No, no, wait! Why are only mother and me going to board the ship? What about you?” I asked, my voice almost cracking, breath catching in my throat and my head buzzing with a million questions I desperately tried to sort by importance.

A deep sigh shook my father’s moustache and suddenly there was nothing but exhaustion and misery on his face.

“I won’t be coming with you.”

“No. No! You can’t!”

“Ace…”

The calm voice, in which he had said my name, annoyed me to no end. Was he trying to patronise me? There was no plausible reason for him to stay behind! If those Royalists caught up to him, if the police caught him, he would be charged with high treason. They would inflict the death penalty on him.

“Why? Tell me! There’s no reason for you to stay here, Dad! Much less to leave your family behind!”

“Ace. Please calm down. I don’t want your mother to hear.” My father tried again, nervously glancing over at the still closed door. “There’s not much time to talk about this now. I understand that you’re upset, but you and your mother, you have to leave this country. It’s only a matter of days now, before the king is going to declare war on the neighbouring countries. Once that has happened it’ll be almost impossible for you to leave. That is, if the police doesn’t catch us first. Do you understand?”

I wanted to protest, wanted to whine and beg like a small child, but how could I, when the expression on my father’s face so clearly told me that he didn’t want to leave us either. So I looked at my feet instead, pressing my lips together.

“Once Rouge and you have left I’m going to meet up with Dragon. We’re going to form a resistance, battling this insanity from the underground. That’s why I have to stay. I haven’t been able to prevent this war from happening, but I’ll be damned, if I simply run away now. And I’ve already arranged for Edward to look after you and your mother. You’ll have it good over there, I promise!”

A faint smile stretched his barely visible lips, but it never reached his eyes—the grey eyes I had inherited from him, and which were probably reflecting my father’s gloomy haze. My head hung low in defeat. There was nothing I could say to persuade him. Me and my mother would leave the country and he would stay behind...

Another thought crossed my mind, stabbing my heart with an icy blade.

“But if I go to the New World now… What-what about Sabo? He-he doesn’t know!”

The words tumbled out of my mouth in a panicked rush and my father had to hold me back, otherwise I would have probably darted out the door without thinking, the logical parts of my brain turned off with only one thought in mind. Sabo. Sabo, Sabo ,Sabo.

“Ace! There’s nothing you can do right now. If you’re seen close to the Outlook Mansion, they’ll get you.”

“I don’t care!” I yelled, furious and full of panic. “I need to see Sabo! I can’t leave without him!”

I struggled against my father’s grip, cursing, when pain shot up from the bruises on my front and the cracked rip, but the thought of leaving Sabo behind, of going to the New World without him, even though I had only just declared that I would wait for him forever, was stronger than any physical agony. But I had greatly underestimated my father’s strength and how weak I was due to my own injuries.

“Please let go,” I begged after realising I had no chance of escaping like this.

“Only if you promise me to stay here and finish packing,” my father said resolutely.

“How can I do that? If we’re going to the New World, it’s likely I’ll never see Sabo again. And how can I run away now, when I just promised him I'd wait for him!? What, if he runs away and thinks he has a safe haven here only to find us gone?” I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t move.

“You can’t talk to him right now, Ace. I know you want to, but I can’t let you go there. You’d rush headlong towards ruin!”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cried out again. “I’ll never be able to forgive myself, if I just disappear on him now.” I refused to look at my father, my whole body trembling with withheld rage.

“I promise I’ll contact him for you, Ace. I swear it! But we have to leave now, otherwise they’ll catch up to us. And what about your mother? Do you want her to get caught? To you want her to be alone?”

But when he mentioned my mother’s name, it only helped to fuel my anger further.

“Don’t try to goat me into leaving by using her. You’re the one, who’s supposed to be by her side, but you’re not even planning on telling her. You’ve passed that job on to me once the ship’s set sail! How convenient, because you know she’d never agree with you, she’d want to stay behind as well!” I argued and he finally let go of my arms.

“No, she wouldn’t. She knows I want to keep the two of you safe and you’re her priority. If you stay here, she’ll refuse to board that ship, but, if you go, she’ll follow you.”

The reasonable part of me knew he was right, and as much as I wanted to see Sabo again, take him with me to the other side of the world, I also wanted to know my mother was safe. It was a dilemma. My own personal enigma. There was no way of solving this problem without hurting or endangering someone, my rational side insisted. But I had never been one to be convinced by rationality, at least not right away. It was my impulsive, emotional side that usually took over in situations such as this.

“Parents have to let go of their children at one point. If I decide to stay here that’s entirely up to me. I don’t want her to stay here. And I don’t want to stay here either. But I won’t leave without Sabo.”

“Ace, please…”

“No. You can’t make me. I’m not a child anymore.”

“You won’t survive on your own. You have nowhere to go. The friends you once thought you had will sell you out. You can’t trust anyone and you’ll always have to be scared of the police catching up to you. Go to the New World together with your mother, look after her for me. And I’ll try to contact Sabo for you and tell him that you had to escape. He’ll understand, if he’s half the man you told me he is. I’ll even try to arrange passage for him, too. It’ll be much easier to get closer to him once they find out that you’ve left the country, I’m sure. And then you can live in the New World together. Edward would surely take him in as well. One son more or less won’t matter to him. But please, please, you have to take that ship tomorrow morning!”

Never before had I seen my father so distraught, the plea in his storm grey eyes heartbreaking.

I opened my mouth, moved by his words, but still not convinced, when the door opened and my mother entered the room. Her hazel eyes were wide with fear as she looked back and forth between the two of us, her beautiful face suddenly darkened by even more worry. I guiltily averted my gaze, knowing she would be able to tell that something was terribly wrong the moment our eyes met, and I wasn't able to lie to her right now.

“What happened?” she asked hesitantly, her voice giving away that she felt obliged to ask but wasn’t sure if she truly wanted to know.

It pained me to see the fearful expression in her eyes, when I glanced up for a second, and it made me realise that it had not just been my life, which had been turned upside down in an instant. No matter how painful the thought of losing Sabo was for me, I didn’t even dare to imagine what it would be like for my mother, when she would find out her beloved husband, the father of her son, the love of her life had tricked her onto a ship to the other side of the world without boarding it, too.

She would be devastated the moment she found out. Devastated and all alone, because I had refused to go with her. Because I had lied to her, too, and I had to, if I wanted her to board that ship tomorrow and stay behind. I truly was my father's son, and in that very moment, I hated it.

And I also wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to inform her about my father's intentions, even if it was just so I did not have to carry the burden by myself any longer, the weight of the lie I was supposed to tell already threatening to crush me.

“He wants to go see Sabo.”

I spun around, staring at my father in disbelief and pure shock, ignoring the apologetic look on his face as he tried to tell me that he had not had any other choice.

“Ace…” my mother began with her soft voice.

I cut her off with a brusque, “No!” right away. Bile rose in my throat, the taste of betrayal bitter on my tongue. Both of them would now try to persuade me at once and I would yield. I know I would. If she looked at me with those eyes of hers, the fear for my life, my safety, almost choking her voice, I would be nothing but her son again. Not Sabo's lover. Not a virtuous, successful pianist. Just a defenceless boy confronted with his mother's heart-wrenching plea.

The worst part was that I knew she was right. Sneaking out, running to Sabo's home now. It was plain suicide. I would probably not even get past the gate. And even if I did. What then? All I was able to do was declare my undying love at the top of my lungs again, while the Outlook household staff took turns breaking my bones—and this time I was lucky, if I stayed alive. And if Sabo wasn't at the house? I vigorously pushed my rational thoughts aside.

No matter how reckless this whole endeavour was, no matter how painful getting caught would be. The fear of death or pain both seemed endurable compared to the prospect of spending the rest of my life without the man I loved.

Never would I be able to forget Sabo. Every happy memory serving as another tormenting reminder of what I had had and what I had let slip through my fingers, what had been taken from me. Did I even know how to live without him? Ever since I had moved to the capital, I had spent almost every day with him. What would it be like to not see him for a month or two? Or a year? A decade? Seven days had already been like the ninth circle of hell from Dante's ‘Inferno’. But wasn't that the hell I belonged to anyway? That place reserved especially for those, who had been iniquitous and ruthless enough and forsaken their loved ones.

“Ace,” my mother tried once more, inching closer.

Her hands were already halfway up, reaching for mine, her sadly glowing eyes trained on me. I wanted to retreat, wanted to flee, but I was frozen to the spot, torn between the responsibility that came with my promise to Sabo and the obligation going hand in hand with my role as a son.

My stillness encouraged her to take a few more tentative steps until she had reached me, her gentle, petite hands curling around my much larger ones. Her touch made me yearn for a past, where my hands had still been small enough to fit into hers. A past, where all problems had been solved simply by her presence. Her loving smile. Her cooed words.

But my hands had outgrown hers the day I had met Sabo.

“Ace. You can’t go there.”

To other people my mother’s words would have sounded final, insistent, but the tone ringing with her last words sounded more like a plea to me as she was trying to appeal to my sanity to take over.

“I know you want to. I know you want to see Sabo and tell him everything. But if you go there now, they'll probably catch you. They'll beat you up again!”

Her voice was hoarse with tears, but her face was still dry.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him” my father said, but there was no accusation in his tone only dwindling hope.

“I just want to let him know that…I’ll be leaving for a while” I said in an attempt to explain myself and I even tried to avoid mentioning anything of what my father had said earlier, already starting to sway under my mother’s desperate stare.

“I promised I would get a message to him,” my father interrupted, before my mother had a chance to speak.

I tilted my head to look at him, not bothering that my face further twisted in anger, but my mother's grip on my hand tightened, because she had noticed.

“I understand that you want to go, Ace. I do!” she tried to reason, “But as your mother I can’t let you go. You’re my son. My only child. I can’t let you risk your life like that. And I hope you’ll find it in your heart one day to forgive me for asking this of you, but please! Please! I beg you! Don’t go there now!”

The first set of tears ran down her freckled cheeks, pale from fear and strain.

“Please, Ace. Please come with us.”

Her shoulders shook as she continued to clutch my hand, the tremors running through her slender frame reverberating in my fingertips, and the grief colouring her face stabbing my heart with guilt.

I didn't know what to do. I was lost. What was I supposed to tell the one person, who had spent every waking hour of the past eighteen years looking after me? Who was not only about to lose the life she knew, but also her beloved husband and her cherished son. Was I entitled to act so selfishly? To only think about what I wanted without considering her feelings?

Had she ever asked me for anything?

Even becoming a pianist had only been an offer from her side. I had been free to choose that path. Had I ever felt like taking a different route, she would have been fine with it.

She saw indecisiveness flicker up in my eyes as I looked at her, my knitted brow and my taut lips all but begging her to give me an answer to my questions, to end the battle inside me. I was so obviously torn and just like she always had, she suffered with me again this time.

“If you decide to stay here, so will we. I won’t leave you behind alone.”

I had dreaded that sentence ever since she had entered the room. My heart sank. My father had predicted it. I was relentless in my decision to not leave Sabo behind and she was in her loyalty towards me, thus making me into the son, who was willing to sacrifice both his parents’ lives for the man he loved.

I grimaced. In the end, love—the feeling I had adored like no other—had caused this mess. My love for Sabo, his love for me. My love for my parents, their love for me.

What was supposed to be the purest feeling had been tainted and I was left with nothing but misery.

I almost laughed at the thought of the piece I had just composed and the name I had given it. What a waste.

My hand slipped out of my mother's grip, grimly looking at my father, barely able to form the words with my mouth.

“You keep your promise,” I pressed out, almost spitting the words,“and I’ll keep mine.”

My father’s broad shoulders slumped with relief, but before he could say anything, I had already taken my small suitcase and rushed past them, yanked open the door and escaped to the hall, tears of fury and loss pricking my eyes.

As I ran down the stairs, suddenly eager to get to the car and leave this town behind, holding onto my suitcase and seeking comfort in the familiarity of its soft, worn leather handle, something to keep me sane in the madness of the moment, I cursed the king and all the nobles. The whole damn world. But most of all my own cowardice.

* * *

The train ride north was a monotonous, silent affair with wind and rain constantly lashing against the windows, the repetitive rattle of wheels on rails lulling me into a restless slumber, from which I awoke with a start more often than not. My mind was in turmoil every time my eyes flew open, my heart thumping in a panicked staccato. Afterwards, when my breathing was even again and the pain in my chest ebbed away, leaving nothing but an empty throbbing behind, I listlessly stared at the passing landscape, a gloomy picture in the shades of the night. Only in the hour before we arrived at our temporary destination, the shapes of trees and fields and the occasional house brightened a bit, the reliefs more in contrast against the softly glowing background.

But the sun never managed to completely chase away the darkness that day. Not while we still had solid ground beneath our feet nor after we had boarded the ship, ploughing our way through the endless mass of storm grey, white-crested waves.

My father stuck to his plan all the way. He wandered off to get our tickets, leaving us in the care of Shanks and Buggy, who were glancing around nervously, most likely expecting someone to jump forth and seize us. But nothing happened and my father returned after a short while, handing us our slips of paper before he suggested we should go ahead and board the ship, and that he would be with us in a couple of minutes, because there were still things he needed to discuss with Shanks and Buggy.

I did not say a word and only pressed my lips together more tightly, glaring at him, my eyes—the same colour as his—screaming betrayal.

To my surprise, though, my mother did not utter a word of protest either. She simply nodded and took my father's hand into her own as she stood on tiptoes to place a lingering kiss on his stubble covered cheek, whispering, “Don’t take too long,” with so much love in her voice it made me want to scream.

I felt my father's burning stare on my back the whole way to the gangway, but not once did I turn around. It took every last bit of my willpower to keep me from running away and with as much self-restraint as I was able to muster, I put one foot in front of the other, feeling as if I was about to face the gallows, even though I was on the way to escape them.

And the whole time only one thought tormented my mind.

_You betrayed him. You betrayed him. You betrayed him._

Aboard the ship my mother lead the way, but instead of going straight to our cabin we stayed on deck, following the rail to the opposite side, where we could see the rest of the port and the point where the calmer waters met with the open sea. Her delicate fingers curled around the rail, knuckles turning pale with the tightness of her grip. I heard her breathe in the salty air, a cold breeze toying with her amber waves.

“He won’t come…”

It wasn't a question and I remained silent, putting down the two suitcases, watching her back.

“I hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day, Ace,” she muttered into the wind, her voice bare of any emotion, the calm before the storm.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I replied.

Her back stiffened and I knew she had seen through my lie. But it was not her I was angry with. So I joined her and watched the sea with her, eyes trained on the distant horizon, mind blank and numb.

We still stood there when the ship set sail, the powerful turbines puffing and blowing, propelling us forward, towards the unknown, away from home, away from love.

Not once did we look back.

When I returned to the same spot that night after dinner, I lit a cigarette from the pack I had just bought, inhaling deeply and relishing the brief light-headedness the sudden flush of nicotine caused. I watched as the smoke was carried away, out onto the open sea. Back to where I was coming from. Back to where Sabo still was. The sky was clear again, stars twinkling down from above and the constant rush of water, flanking the ship’s sides, mixed with laughter and chatter from inside, creating a peaceful illusion.

It was during that moment, when I was staring out into the infinite darkness, the never ending night, that I whispered a last short prayer out of desperation to the mighty sea surrounding me, begging it to, one day, carry Sabo to where I would be.


	3. Chapter 3

Seven days later we set foot on the New World. We were greeted with the news of Goa Kingdom’s declaration of war and handed new passports with cheerful grins. No matter where we turned, welcoming faces surrounded us, constantly congratulating us on having escaped the war just in time. In fact, two days after we had set sail the borders had been closed, only to be turned into battle lines another forty-eight hours later.

Three months after our arrival we received a letter from my father, telling us he was fine and that he would try to contact us more often, but since he was constantly on the run it was almost impossible. He had added another piece of paper solely addressed to me and I took it from my mother with violently shaking hands, briefly considering to just rip it into tiny pieces, and deciding against it. Deep inside me there was still a glimmering bit of hope for Sabo to follow us.

The letter said that, ever since my mother and I had fled the country, my father had someone monitor the Outlook Mansion, constantly spreading the rumour that I had escaped to the New World. However, about four weeks after we had left the country someone from the kitchen staff had joined my father’s underground resistance group and told him that Sabo had been sent to the Outlook family’s country residence-under the pretence that he needed the country side’s fresh, clean air in order to better recover from his illness-the moment he had been healthy enough to travel again. But the man admitted that, apparently, it had all just been to hamper his attempts at escape, since his parents deeply feared that he would follow me to the New World.

Yet, when my father had finally made it to the town, where the residence was, the townsfolk had told him that the young lord had just been called to the front and had thus left town two days ago.

My eyes flew over the rest of the letter without actually reading the hastily scribbled words. They were nothing but a constant repetition of his promise to me anyway, a promise he clearly had failed to live up to. Reaching him amidst the threats of war was impossible. Even I wasn't as stupid as to believe he would make it.

Eager to escape the suffocating narrowness of our house, I blindly ran out onto the nightly streets. But my grief and self-loathing never left me and there was no way of escaping my own tormenting thoughts. As I stumbled on I silently begged for the pouring rain to drown me.

It took Thatch and Marco two days to find me in the corner of some rundown, shady pub down by the docks, selling booze distilled in the basement. They carried me back home, oblivious to the world as I was, robbed of all my valuables, suit torn and stained, mumbling Sabo’s name in devoted repetition, stuck in the infinity of my regret.

I never mentioned his name again thereafter.

The war raged on for six whole years, leaving countless dead, widowed, orphaned or heartbroken before the allied forces finally claimed victory, occupying Goa Kingdom and dethroning the king. Two weeks before the war had ended my father had given himself up for the sake of those fighting with him in the underground. He had been executed a week later. In his last letter he had once again apologised for not having been able to keep his promises to us. I burned the note he had attached for me without reading it.

And in all those years neither one of us had ever heard anything about Sabo.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, thanks for reading! I can already say there's definitely going to be a sequel. :) And as always reviews and kudos are very much appreciated. Dankeschön! :)


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